Secrets
by ecv
Summary: A series of independent stories where Booth and Brennan reveal secrets to each other. Some will be directly based on the show, others based on things that could have happened off-screen.
1. The Conversation

_A series of stories with Booth and Brennan revealing secrets to each other._

 _Thanks for reading._

"I have a secret," he said into the darkness. He could almost see the words against the inky blackness that was their ceiling, as they dropped into the comfortable silence. For a moment, he regretted saying them, hesitant to break the fragile peace that had finally come over them.

It had been weeks since he'd felt that they were finding their way back to normal or a new normal and Booth was afraid that simple sentence would push that feeling away again.

"Mmmmm," she hummed, her heart rate picking up again after it had just begun to slow. Turning to her side, her breath tickled his cheek. Secrets weren't always good, and she feared her husband was about to tell her something upsetting. "What kind of secret?"

"Not a bad secret," he was quick to reassure her. His bare shoulders slid smoothly against the sheets as he shrugged. "At least, I don't think it is. It's just…something I think you might like to hear, after everything that's happened."

The breath on his skin was heavier as she sighed. "Another secret involving my father?" she asked. Her voice, tinged with sadness, made him regret ever thinking it was a good idea to tell her.

Booth remained on his back. but reached over to pull her closer to him, relishing the feel of her naked skin against his. The room was so dark, neither could see the other, but both could feel the tension. "I'm okay, Booth," Brennan said. Her hand, warm despite the lateness of the hour, pressed against his chest over his heart. "It makes me sad to think about what I've lost, but I don't want to forget the time I had with him. I'd like to hear a story about my father I've never heard. I'm sure he had so many stories he never got the chance to tell me."

"It involves me, too," Booth warned her. "It involves me," he hesitated, chuckling a little at the memory he had yet to share with her. "Well, it involves me being the alpha-male you used to accuse me of being."

"You'll always be an alpha-male," Brennan replied. "I love you because it makes you you."

"That's a very unscientific answer," he teased, turning his head to press a kiss to the top of her head. "And you used the word you twice."

"I blame the late hour and the fact that your attention just a few minutes ago, has turned my brain to metaphorical mush. But despite those facts, I would still like to hear this secret you and my father kept from me. Clearly you were afraid of my reaction."

"You've scared me quite a few times, Bones, but I've never been afraid of you. Now, let me think for a second." He forced his mind back, past the loss of friends, and even the loss of Bones for a time. Back to when their relationship was relatively new, and at times, still so tenuous, at least to him. Maybe, his very brilliant wife had been right when she said they'd been afraid of her reaction.

"It was the night after the trial had finished. Only a couple of hours later, in fact. You scared the shit out of me that day, Bones. I can admit that now. I'd known a lot of brave people in my life, but damn," he stopped to press his lips together. "The risk you took that day…still scares the shit out of me." He pulled her closer and tried to relax as the memory brought back the tension that their casual joking only minutes before had chased away.

Feeling his heartbeat increase beneath her palm, she patted his chest gently. "I knew what I was doing, Booth."

"No. You didn't. But you did it anyway. I said then that it took a lot of heart and I still believe that. But that's not the point of this story," he said, giving himself a mental shake. "This is about what happened after we left the courthouse that day."

"I went with my father," she remembered. "And you watched me walk away with him."

Booth's eyes narrowed. Despite the fact they couldn't see each other, some reactions just seemed to come naturally. "You didn't turn around as you walked away," he said. "I know because I was afraid if you did, you'd be able to see how angry I was that you took the risk and I didn't want to dampen your happiness."

"There was a time, not long after we met, that I discovered I could always tell when you were watching me, despite the lack of a scientific explanation for the feeling." She would have shrugged, but Booth held her so tightly, that movement was almost impossible and Brennan was loathe to break that connection. "And I knew you were angry with me. Just as I knew you'd forgive me."

"Yeah, I forgave you. Probably before you were out of the parking lot." He ran his fingers up the bare skin of her arm. "I can't say I did the same thing for your father."

Brennan had a sudden flash of knowledge. "How long did you wait before you paid him a visit?"

If Booth was surprised she guessed, he didn't let on. "I'm surprised you didn't see me knocking on the front door as you pulled away."

 _"_ _Open the door, Max," Booth yelled as his fist make contact with the wood. "If you don't answer this damn door, I'll shoot it open."_

"I'm surprised he let you in," Brennan admitted.

"I threatened to shoot the door in if he didn't. And considering it wasn't too long after the clown incident, it was probably not the best threat to make. But that man, who loved you enough to stay and face a possible death sentence, opened the door with two drinks in his hands. Didn't even seem surprised to see me."

Reaching up, Booth turned on a light near the bed, so he could better see his wife. He wanted to make sure the story wasn't upsetting her and that was hard to do in darkness. When he glanced down, he saw blue eyes filled with both grief and amusement.

"Dad loved you, Booth. And respected you, I think," she said, biting her lip, unsure of her assessment. "I think, he might have been disappointed if you hadn't paid him a visit."

 _"_ _Have a drink, Booth," Max said, handing him the glass. He left the door open behind him as he walked back toward the main part of the house, giving Booth permission to enter. "My daughter has a tendency to make men want to drink."_

"I think you're right, Bones," Booth said, pleased to see her face relax at the correct reading of other people's emotions.

"Clearly you entered the apartment. Did you take one of the drinks in his hand?" Brennan asked.

 _Booth took the drink from Max's hand and downed half of it in one swallow. "Did you have any idea what the hell she was about to do? How could you let her take a chance like that?"_

 _"_ Of course, I took the drink. I needed it after I watched you attempt to implicate yourself on the stand. And I demanded to know if he knew what you were about to do."

"He didn't know, Booth. I made that decision on my own after talking to you. Or trying to talk to you, since you told me we couldn't discuss the case." Her brow furrowed. "I hate when I can't talk to you about things like that. And I really hated it then."

Booth released his hold on her, turning so they both relaxed on their sides, facing each other. "You can always talk to me, Bones. I did the best I could to help you."

"You told me that sometimes it had to be all about heart. And while my heart couldn't talk to me, I knew what my brain wanted."

 _"_ _Of course, I didn't know, Booth," Max said. He took a much smaller sip of his drink, and watched the FBI agent closely. He wouldn't put it past the man to take a swing or two to release some of the fear riding Booth so closely. It amused Max just a little that his daughter could have that effect on him. "Do you really think I would let my daughter, the woman I was willing to go to jail for just so I could be near her, take the fall for a murder?"_

 _"_ _A murder you committed," Booth said._

 _"_ _The courts disagreed," Max reminded him._

 _"_ _Because your daughter tried to take the fall for you," Booth said. His voice rose with each word. He finished the drink in his hand, downing the remaining alcohol with obvious anger._

"Your brain wanted your father in your life again. It wanted a chance to have a relationship, any relationship with the family you'd lost. And I can understand that, Bones. And considering the kind of man he was to you, to us, and to our children, I'm glad we had that chance."

Reaching out, he brushed a strand of hair from Brennan's face. "Max told me he didn't know what you'd planned. And to be honest, Bones, I think if he had known, he might have a made a deal with the prosecution, just to prevent you from taking a chance like that."

Her eyes widened. "He would have taken that chance?"

"He committed a murder for you. Spending the rest of his life in jail wasn't what he wanted, but he would have done it to protect you." Booth gave her a reassuring smile. "But your crazy plan worked and he wasn't faced with that option."

"But you were angry."

Booth nodded. "I was angry at you, at me, at him. I've done some difficult things in this life, but having to say you had time to commit the murder was one of the worst. But I was mostly scared that Caroline would go home that evening and decide to prosecute you instead. She's a good friend."

 _"_ _Why don't you tell her how you feel?" Max asked, genuinely curious. "Why keep performing this dance? You're going to trip over your own feet if you aren't careful."_

 _Booth set the now empty glass down on a nearby table hard. The glass cracked audibly, but did not shatter. "She's my friend. We're partners," he said. Each word was enunciated clearly, difficult to do as they came from between his clenched jaw._

 _Max snorted. "You can't con an old con, Booth. But maybe…," he narrowed his eyes as his voice trailed off, considering. "Perhaps it's not only my daughter you won't admit it to, but yourself as well." He shrugged. "It's your loss. My Temperance is a great woman."_

 _Pinching the bridge of his nose, Booth took a deep breath. "Yeah," he agreed. "She is a great woman. And you better not force her to make a choice like this again. Because I will kill you."_

 _His voice was flat, and Max had no doubt he meant the words. "Fair enough," he agreed easily._

Inwardly, Booth marveled that a man who barely knew him had seen something so clearly that Booth hadn't been ready to see himself.

"You threatened him, didn't you?" Brennan asked, despite the fact she was already convinced of the answer.

"I threatened to kill him," Booth admitted quietly. "And I would have done it, too." It was wrong to admit that he would have killed a man who had just died protecting his grandchildren. But Booth would have done it to protect the mother of those children. The woman who'd stolen his heart when she wasn't even trying.

Brennan closed her eyes and Booth feared he'd made a mistake. "I'm sorry, Bones, I shouldn't have told you that part."

But to his surprise, she reopened her eyes and smiled into the pale light that bathed her face. "Oh, Booth, I'm not upset with you. This happened years ago, and I was always kind of surprised you didn't do something like this. What did my dad say?"

Now it was Booth's turn to smile. "He barely blinked. But I think he knew I meant it. Maybe even understood it. He protected you, too, Bones."

 _"_ _It probably won't mean much to tell you that this won't happen again," Max said. "But," he shook his head and finished his own drink, setting his glass down gently next to Booth's. "That means you are going to have to keep her safe. I have to trust you to keep my girl safe."_

 _Hands fiddled with the tokens Booth kept in his pockets. He'd waited outside the door for hours, just to have the opportunity to have this conversation with Max. And now, he wasn't sure it had gone the way he'd wanted it to._

 _Max's eyes met Booth's and Booth stilled, reading just how serious the older man was. "I'll keep her safe. I won't hurt her. I'd never hurt her," Booth heard himself promise, amazed at how quickly the tide had turned. He'd come to demand promises from Max and instead he was making one of his own._

 _The nod was so small, Booth almost didn't see it. "Then I suggest you go find her," Max suggested, walking forward to force Booth back toward the door. "She thinks you're mad at her. Is rather worried about it, as a matter of fact. It might be a good idea for you to go talk to her."_

"I miss him," Brennan admitted, her blue eyes filling with tears. Several of them escaped down her cheeks only to be quickly wiped away by Booth.

"Me too, Bones. And that was something I never thought I'd say after that day in the courtroom. But I thought you'd like to know what happened. It wasn't really a secret. More of an understanding between two men who loved you."

"You loved me even then?" she asked.

"Sometimes, Bones, when I think about it, I think I've loved you forever. Even after that first case together when you refused to speak to me. There was something about you that haunted me, pushed me to become better than I was."

She inched forward and their hands began to touch in ways that were less about comfort and more about making blood race.

"Will you do me a favor, Booth?" she asked, pushing him over to his back again.

"Anything," he said. With growing desire he watched her rise above him.

"Prove it."


	2. The Box

_A/N: I am humbled by the follows,favorites and reviews. I hope you enjoy this new chapter._

"Bones, what is this doing back here?" Booth asked curiously. They'd spent a rainy Saturday cleaning out a closet in preparation for the installation of new flooring the following Monday. They were almost done and Booth was pulling items out of the final corner left to be emptied.

"What's back there?" Brennan asked from the opposite side of the room where she folded clothes they planned to donate. "What did you find?"

"A rather plain looking box," he said. It was brown, with no markings on any side. With it in his hand, he turned back toward his wife to see her eyes widening in alarm. He watched her take a deep breath before a resigned look appeared on her face.

Booth, more than a little concerned now, watched her fold and refold the shirt in her hand before she finally placed it carefully into the box at her feet. "I haven't been in that box in a long time," she admitted softly. "Probably about fifteen years, in fact. It's not that it's a secret, nothing is a secret from you. It's just that I wanted to forget about it, so I put everything in that box and then closed it. Both metaphorically and physically. I haven't actually touched it since Sweets helped me move in that summer." Her head tilted to the side as she remembered. "And even then, I didn't actually touch it. Told him where to put it and forced my mind past it."

Giving the box a gentle shake, he took a small step toward his wife. "Why did you save it if you never look in it? Why didn't you throw it away?"

She smoothed the shirt she'd just folded, not looking up. Booth recognized it as an old t-shirt he hadn't worn in several years. After several minutes where she didn't speak, Booth watched as she took her own shirt off only to pull his old shirt out of the box and put it on.

The move was so unlike her, Booth felt the hair on his arms stand up.

She hugged herself before finally looking up and meeting his eyes. "You can open it," she said, "but you won't like it."

Sure that the box contained letters from Sully, or something like that, he held the box out toward her. "I'm not reading your old love letters, Bones." But somehow, her reaction seemed wrong if that's what was in the box.

The laugh was watery. "A lot of men have come in and out of my life, Booth. But only one has ever given me anything I've saved."

"So this box has to do with me then?" He gave it another shake. "But you're damn close to crying, so whatever is in this box isn't good."

She hadn't realized there were tears and she brushed at her cheeks impatiently. "The items in that box are neither good or bad. They are just items. It's the time they represent that is painful. Which is why they are in the box in the deepest corner of a closet." Moving the box of clothes, she sat on the edge of the bed and patted the space next to her. "It will bother you if we don't open the box. And the time period it represents is long past. We'll be okay."

The reassurance that the box held things that had that kind of power unnerved him. "I have to say, Bones, you're scaring me more than a little." But he came over and sat next to her, the box resting in his lap. "Given the time frame you mentioned, about fifteen years ago," he said, pausing to look over and see her nod in confirmation, "I'm afraid i know exactly what time period this box is from. And I have to tell you, I'm not sure I want to open it. The box or the memories."

"It was hard for you, too?" she asked softly. "I never gave a thought to what it must have been like for you." She put her hand on top of the box, but didn't try to open it. "It occurs to me now that you risked a lot those two weeks."

Booth put his hand over hers, brushing a thumb across the back of her hand. When he didn't take his hand away, she flipped her palm up and twined her fingers between his. "I knew I was risking friendships that I didn't truly understand or appreciate yet. Never thought I was risking that with you. I worried more about being unable to protect you. That someone we'd arrested or someone we hadn't would take advantage of me being gone."

"It did lead to something good," she said with a laugh, bumping his shoulder.

Surprised, he looked at her. "What possible good thing came from those two weeks?"

Her smile turned teasing and just a little suggestive. "I got to see you naked, Booth. And I have to say, I wasn't disappointed."

Laughing, he squeezed her hand even tighter in his. The grip bordered on painful, but she didn't pull away. "We really don't have to open this, Bones. Whatever is in here doesn't matter to us now."

"No, Booth," she disagreed. "I think we should open it. I really think it's okay for us to remember together. Neither of us is angry anymore and it happened so many years ago. It was painful, but we have so many good memories now."

"Okay, but I think you should do the honors. I'm interested to see what you saved."

Pulling her hand away, she took the box from his lap and placed it into her own. "You have to remember that I didn't think I'd ever see you again. So the selections I made were made with that thought in mind. And I only made a few of them."

With a final deep breath, she pulled the top from the box and placed it next to her on the bed.

"Why am I not surprised to see that on top?" he asked, surprised to feel himself smiling.

"I've always loved your t-shirts," she admitted, looking down at herself before pulling a black one free from the box. "I hoped it would smell like you forever. But I knew it wouldn't, so…," she pulled out a small bottle, "I took a bottle of the cologne you sometimes wore so I could refresh the scent once in a while."

Taking the bottle from her hand, Booth shook it gently. "You still buy this for me."

"And now I take the shirts from your body when you wear it, rather than from your drawer. I must say, I like the way I do it now much better."

"Me, too," Booth said gruffly. He shifted, suddenly a little uncomfortable in the tight jeans he was wearing. The look she gave him made it clear she knew exactly what effect her words had on him.

"A picture of you and Parker," she said. Brennan handed him a slightly faded photograph. It was of the young boy and his father in the park.

"I loved this picture. It was in a frame in his bedroom. I think I always knew it was missing, but a part of me always avoided finding out the reason why. What happened to the frame?"

"I dropped it when I was removing the photograph and broke the glass. I disposed of the debris when I returned home and simply kept the picture. You never mentioned it and Parker never noticed it was gone."

He tapped the photo against his leg. "I'd like to display this again if that's okay with you. Such a happy memory shouldn't stay in a shoebox in the back of a closet."

Delighted with the idea, Brennan gave him a happy smile. "Maybe when we donate the clothes we could select a frame together."

"New memories," Booth said. "What else is in there?"

A stack of newspaper clippings, yellowing with age appeared in her hand. "I saved every article from every newspaper I could find, that mentioned your death. There were quite a few, but after learning you were trying to bring your quarry back to DC, it made more sense." She passed them over to him. "A paragraph seemed an inadequate way to express the amazing man you were. That you still are."

Not even looking at them, he placed them carefully on the growing pile of artifacts. "How many nights did you spend in my apartment, Bones? Did you sleep there, eat there? Hell, when I first got back, it felt as if someone other than me had been living there."

Not answering the question immediately, Brennan reached into the box and handed him another item before she began to speak. "I spent three nights there, before I had to go home to pack."

"Pack…?" Booth asked hesitantly, finally looking down to see what she'd handed him. "This is a plane ticket, Bones."

"I am aware of that, Booth. I purchased it, after all." With a tap, she brought his attention to the pertinent information. "A one way ticket to Africa. I was to fly out four days after being informed of your death. After that, I planned to disappear into the jungle, where communication would have been almost impossible, to study some of the indigenous tribes there. Perhaps write some papers. A place where no one would find me."

Pushing off the bed, Booth paced toward the windows, stopping to stare into the distance. Brennan watched him, not leaving her own place on the bed. "I didn't go, Booth. But you know that."

"I could have…Sweets could have…almost cost…," he mumbled finally giving up on forming a coherent thought and simply shaking his head. After gathering himself, he turned. "Why did you stay?"

"You changed me. I wanted to hide so badly, but because of you, I'd formed deeper connections to those people around me. I didn't always understand them, still don't, but I knew I couldn't live a year of my life without them. And they were the only connection to you that I had left."

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he considered the status of their relationship back then. "I'm not sure I could have found you, Bones. But I think, that if I had come back and you were gone, I'm pretty sure I would have tried." He met her clear blue eyes and shook his head. "That's not right. I would have come to find you. No matter how long it took me."

"Come back over, Booth," she encouraged. "There isn't much left in here. I knew that your things would go to Rebecca and Parker and I didn't want to take anything that was meant for your son."

"Throw the ticket away, Bones," he said as he sat back down. "I don't understand, after all the years that have past, why this entire box wan't simply tossed in the garbage. I was gone an entire summer. You could have told Sweets to toss the box and I would never have known the difference." His voice was sharp, frustrated with a two weeks he wasn't sure he would ever totally know the truth of.

She tilted her head to the side. "Maybe we shouldn't finish this. It is upsetting you more than is healthy. I'm sure your blood pressure it quite high right now."

"Of course, it's high. You just told me that I might have left that safe house to discover you'd disappeared into some godforsaken jungle in the middle of Africa. How else am I supposed to react?"

Studying him, she finally reached behind him for the stack of clippings. "You are correct, Booth. I should have thrown this box away."

"No, Bones. Just stop for a second. We can throw it away when we are done." HIs warm hand covered hers. "I don't mean to get so upset."

Brennan considered his words, watching as her husband took slow, deep breaths to calm himself. "Fine, Booth. But there is not much left. Really only one thing."

Taking a deep breath, he released her hand. "What is it?"

A silver package appeared in her hand. "This."

"Is that an unopened gift?" Booth asked. His memory of the night he was shot was more than a little fuzzy, as was most of the day it happened. Had he purchased Bones a gift that she'd never opened? "Did I give it to you? And why didn't you open it if I did?"

She shook her head and fingered the bow that she'd carefully tied so many years ago. "It was a gift I'd purchased for you. That afternoon, after the case was solved but prior to you being shot."

Booth loved gifts, but he hesitated to take this one from her hands. "Why didn't you give it to me, you know, after I was back?"

"I was angry with you. And the gift seemed rather silly. Then there was Zack…," her voice trailed away as her hands fiddled with a piece of tape that had come loose. "It was a difficult month. I put the box away and life moved on. It didn't seem like a good idea to reopen that cylindrical object filled with annelids."

His brow furrowed as he tried to figure it out. "It's can of worms, Bones."

"That's what I said." Her eyes searched his face. "Do you want to open it now?"

It was unusual for him, but he honestly wasn't sure what answer she wanted to hear. "Do you want me to?"

"That afternoon," she said, "you told me something about me that bothered you. Do you remember what you said?"

Knowing the question was serious, he gave it a genuine attempt, but finally shook his head. "I don't have your brain, Bones."

"You accused me of thinking I was better than you. And while I said I was more intelligent than you, I conceded you had more skills in certain areas that I did."

"And that made you buy me a gift?" Booth asked, having trouble following her logic.

"I didn't feel the answer conveyed how important I thought you were to our partnership. Later that afternoon, I saw this in a gift shop and purchased it. It was in the car when I arrived and was coerced into singing. With everything that happened after, I never gave it to you."

"I want it," Booth decided, holding out his hand. "If you bought it for me, I want it."

"It's not much, Booth," she cautioned, handing him the small box.

"You bought it, it's everything," he argued, tearing into paper that was brittle with age. A small white box was revealed and he quickly removed the cover. "Is it a keychain? Two of them?"

"They go together," Brennan explained, reaching over him to adjust them. "See, the pieces attached go together to form words."

"Like the necklaces," Booth said. "Where each best friend wears half and when you put them back together the entire word is formed."

"Yes," Brennan said. She was pleased that the gift still appeared to be in good shape.

"What does it say?" Booth asked, moving the pieces to bring them together. "Partners in crime?"

"I know that isn't the exact meaning of the phrase," Brennan said, looking embarrassed. "I looked it up, later. But we are partners and we solved crimes, so…I thought it might be a way to express what you meant to me. We would each have half."

"That is so cool. You shouldn't have kept this a secret, Bones. I understand why you did, but you should have shared this secret years ago. Which half of the keychain do you want?"

Looking up from the box, she tilted her head. "You're going to use them?"  
"Damn right," he said, pulling both free. "Here, you take the back half of the words. The gun always goes first, after all."

"If that's what you think." Her easy agreement had him raising an eyebrow, but when she didn't continue, he let it go. "Is that it?"

"Doesn't seem like much, does it?" she asked. She turned the box over to demonstrate that it was empty. "But the rest didn't belong to me. And I didn't want to be greedy."

Booth pressed a kiss to her head. "Thanks, Bones. It wasn't as bad as I thought it might be."

"No, it wasn't." She retrieved the newspaper clippings and put them back in the box before closing the cover. "We can throw this away. The rest, we can keep."

"I'm sorry I hurt you, Bones," Booth said.

She flashed him a smile that was no longer sad. "It was a long time ago, Booth. And I no longer have the box to haunt me. I'm glad that it's finally over."

Standing, he held a hand out to her. She took it, pulling herself to her feet. "Let's get rid of this box and go find our keys." Brennan chuckled as his eyes lit up. "It wasn't that great of a gift, Booth. Seems kind of silly as I look back on it now."

"I meant what I said, Bones. Any gift from you, is everything."


	3. The Texts

_A/N: This one is a bit more fun. It is definitely a strong T rating for suggestive content._

 _Thanks for reading and for all the wonderful reviews._

 _I have a secret_

Booth, his thoughts definitely not on the mind-numbing presentation currently taking place at the front of the room, glanced in surprise at his phone. Bones knew he was in some sort of conference for the day and she tended not to interrupt him during that time. Unless there was a dead body. But her text didn't indicate that.

It said she had a secret. What. The. Hell.

He hated secrets. Secrets were often bad, unless you counted presents and surprise visits from Parker. But the holidays were still months away and Parker was currently in school in England. Which meant her secret had absolutely nothing to do with those things.

And that meant it had to be bad. Terrible even. Something that had been eating away at her for some time. Otherwise she would have waited until he arrived home, rather than spring it on him in the middle of a conference where there was no way for her to contact him other than by text.

Taking a deep breath, Booth flicked his eyes back up to the presentation, before looking back at the phone. Knowing there was only one way to find out, Booth pulled his cell phone from the table to his lap, making it less conspicuous to those around him. Not that he was worried. At least half the attendees were playing on their phones at any given time during the conference.

 _What kind of secret?_

He left the phone in his lap, knowing Bones wouldn't take a long time to respond. Glancing around the room, Booth wondered how the presenters didn't realize at least half of the room wasn't listening. Then decided they probably didn't care since they'd be paid either way.

 _A good secret_

Rolling his eyes, Booth wondered how she'd known exactly where his thoughts had gone. In just three words, she managed to lower his heart rate and blood pressure and she wasn't even in the room.

 _Can't this wait until we get home?_

Hacker was in the room, somewhere, and the last thing Booth wanted to give him was an excuse to be called into the office for a "talk" about his behavior. Not that he gave a shit what Hacker thought. It was the waste of time that pissed him off.

 _It will be more fun if I tell you now_

Fun. A fun secret. Like that was ever going to happen.

At the front of the conference room, the presenter was currently going over tips on how to successfully work with other agencies and Booth swallowed a snort of laughter. Not one of the tips on the screen would ever work with his team.

As he looked at the list and mentally gave reasons on how each would fail when working with Hodgins, his phone buzzed again.

 _It's a secret fantasy_

Oh, shit. She wouldn't. Booth swallowed in distress and put the phone face down on his leg. It buzzed again almost immediately and he put his hand over it to prevent it from falling but didn't turn it over. A move he knew was only temporary. There was no way he could ignore any further messages no matter the consequence. The curiosity alone was sure to kill him.

Finally, he gave in.

 _A secret sexual fantasy_

He didn't groan aloud, even though he wanted to. He barely even blinked. With more will power than he knew he possessed, Booth schooled his face into a neutral expression. Carefully, since his fingers had started to shake slightly, he typed out a response.

 _Not fair bones u know i'm in a conference_

"Agent Booth?" came a loud voice from the front of the room. Without even a hint of guilt, Booth looked up just as his finger pressed send.

He raised an eyebrow at the presenter and Hacker who stood just off to his left. Smirking, Booth knew what Hacker hoped would happen, and thoroughly enjoyed the realization that he'd be disappointed. "Yes?"

Most men looked surprised when they were called out in a room of fellow agents. Some even looked embarrassed when they were on their phone when that occurred. But the smug grin on Booth's face made the presenter hesitate, as did the amused smiles on several other faces.

The presenter was a short man dressed in what Booth thought was supposed to be corporate casual. Or something like that. It was a look he didn't approve of. "Yes, um, I was informed that you had formed a rather successful partnership with an agency outside the FBI. I was wondering if you had any response to the tips presented?" he asked.

Booth's phone buzzed just as he returned it to the table, causing blood to rush in a particular direction. A place he certainly didn't want it to go when he was facing down a clueless presenter and Hacker. Who was just as clueless. "Yes. Actually, I have only one suggestion."

The presenter's face lit up and Booth almost felt sorry for the guy. "And what is your suggestion?" Even Hacker looked pleased that Booth was participating appropriately.

"I would take every single one of those tips and throw them out the window. They are useless."

Hacker's face went from pleased to pissed in the span of a heartbeat and the presenter's mouth hung open. Hacker was the first to recover. "Agent Booth, why would you say that?"

"Take number three, for example," Booth said, standing so he could be heard better. It made it easier to see the one thing he was trying to ignore: his phone and the mysterious message it contained. "It says to set boundaries to help ensure the FBI is the lead agency. Now, that's just useless advice. If you are working with a team, there shouldn't be lead agency. The point is to work as a team. If you don't treat them as equals, what's the point?"

Booth's answer was long enough the presenter had time to recover. "Everyone is equal on your team?"

Someone to Booth's left snorted in amusement. Probably at the thought of Dr. Brennan ever being considered less than equal to the rest of them. "Of course, we are equal partners. Our roles expand and change depending on the situation and the case," Booth said. He flicked his eyes down to the phone and back up again, thinking of one role he was glad he'd allowed to expand. "But you presented it as the FBI has all the power and the outside partner should just succumb to our expertise. That's not a partnership."

Finished, Booth sat back down and picked up his phone, a clear dismissal of both the presenter and his boss. He watched, from the top of his vision, as Hacker left the stage area and returned to his seat. The presenter swallowed thickly and picked up the clicker. "Let's move on to the next slide," he said, not responding to what Booth had said.

Which was fine with Booth. Sure he'd be left alone for the remainder of the afternoon, Booth finally accessed the message.

 _It starts with me wearing your button down shirt_

 _Why r u doing this 2 me bones_

He didn't even look up as he waited for the reply.

 _I was working on my next book with Angela She explained sexting to me. I wanted to practice_

 _G_ rinding his teeth, Booth spent an enjoyable minute coming up with various ways to kill Angela. He wasn't sure he knew enough saints to get through the next two hours.

 _I will not read anymore messages_

He clicked the phone back to sleep and tried to rest it on his knee. But he was suddenly unable to sit still and the phone almost hit the floor several times.

And when it buzzed with an incoming message, he turned it back on despite the previous text.

 _I have the blue shirt on and only the middle button is buttoned_

Brennan had done that move on more than one occasion. And been forced to sew the button back on when he ripped the shirt open to get a glimpse at her naked skin.

Booth turned so he could sit a little closer to the table, suddenly concerned that other things weren't going to be as easy to hide as the phone.

 _please bones I'm begging u don't do this_

The reply was immediate.

 _If you don't want to do this quit reading_

Leave it to her to respond with logic. Logic that couldn't be argued with. Logic that made perfect since except his gorgeous wife was playing a game with him they'd never played before. And Booth was more than interested. He wanted to send sexy messages with his wife.

Just not at a conference full of people. He'd rather be in his office. Where he could pull the blinds and lock the door.

Where not one person would catch a glimpse of what was her prefer only be obvious to his wife.

 _i want to play bones but we could wait until i was in my office_

The pause was longer this time and Booth wondered if she was considering the offer. He was just starting to settle down again when her reply came through.

 _What's wrong, Agent Booth? Are you lacking self-control?_

Damn her. She turned it into a challenge. He couldn't refuse those and there was no way he'd let his wife claim victory in this little war of words.

Challenge accepted.

 _Where r u bones?_

 _Funding meeting. It's boring. But I have great self-control_

Booth smiled. He'd see about that.

 _My fantasy 4 u involves scarves bones_

 _Booth what are you doing?_

 _I'm practicing my self-control the scarves are navy blue and u know how i love that color against your pale skin_

Blinking, Booth brought his focus back just in time to hear the presenter call for a break. Thanking God for the timing, he reached for his jacket and rose from the chair. Turning, he just avoided stepping on Hacker's toes.

"Where are you going, Agent Booth?" he asked. Booth could easily read the annoyance in the other man's face.

"I'm going back to my office, sir. This is a waste of my time. I can finish my budget projections you've been asking for." And send naughty texts to my wife.

Hacker desperately wanted those projections. But he hated how Booth always seemed to get the upper hand. "Don't you think you were a little rude to the presenter?" he asked with crossed arms.

Shrugging, Booth grabbed his packet from the table. "He asked a question. I gave an honest answer."

Knowing he was beat, Hacker stepped back. "I hope to see those projections on my desk in the morning."

Nodding to acknowledge he heard the comment, Booth moved quickly past him and headed toward the exit. He found that now he waited impatiently for his phone to buzz again.

And he wasn't disappointed when it did.

 _Would you tie my hands over my head Booth? It that your fantasy? To take control?_

Hell yeah. That sounded like a great time to him. So great he almost walked into a glass door. He gave it an angry push, finally exiting into a day that had gone from pleasantly warm to steamy. A good metaphor for the way his afternoon was progressing.

 _Except we wouldn't be at home_ _bones. Maybe in your office where we could test out the new couch._

It was a scenario he'd been trying to make work in his own mind since that gorgeous piece of leather furniture had shown up in her office. All she needed was to close the blinds and lock that door of hers.

Maybe over a long weekend. Or Christmas when the lab closed down for a week unless a new case arrived. Surely, they could break the couch in then. And no one would hear them do it.

The next message came as he was almost to his vehicle. And he tripped over his own feet as he read it.

 _Do you think the guards would come running as I screamed your name?_

Okay. This had gone too far. Booth could barely walk out a building and across the parking lot without getting so distracted he almost hurt himself. Twice. But he refused to concede defeat to his wife.

In the SUV, he took several calming breaths.

 _I'm on my way back to the office. Left conference. Won't be able to text for a few._

 _Okay_

Uncomfortable, Booth shifted in his seat before starting the trip back toward his office. Only to change his mind half way there and head toward his house. He'd go back later and finish the budget projections. Maybe Bones would go back with him; she had a better head for numbers than he did. That was if she still had the energy to stand after he was done with her.

c _hanged mind and went home_ Booth texted from the driveway. _I'll be waiting for you_

The phone sounded almost immediately. Booth opened her message to find not words this time, but a single picture.

How the hell she managed to pull the shot off at work he didn't want to know.

Then again, maybe he did, since security cameras clearly weren't a concern in whatever area she was hiding in.

Probably a bathroom. Never mind. Maybe he wasn't interested after all.

He was even more uncomfortable than he'd been when he sat in the SUV to begin with.

y _ou win bones. hurry home_

He expected her to gloat about her self-control. To make fun of his inability to control himself when it came to her.

Instead, what he heard was a car pull up next to him in the driveway.

"Apparently, neither of us have very good self-control," she said as they both exited their respective vehicles.

Booth didn't bother with words. He pressed her back against the driver's door, pulling the rubber band from her hair so he could run his hands through it as he kissed her.

"Did Angela really put you up to that?" he asked, pulling back when breathing became difficult.

"She explained it to me," Brennan said. "It really was for my newest book. It was my decision to practice it on you. How did I do?"

Booth pressed his hips into her, making it very clear how she'd done. "I think we should go inside, Bones. And I can give you a clearer demonstration of what you did to me. And maybe we can find a button shirt."

"Or some scarves?" she asked with a suggestive smile.

"I don't think my budget projections are getting done," Booth grumbled as he rushed her into the house.

Booth was wrong about that. They did get done.

Two days later.


	4. The Vows

_A/N: Lots of fluff in this one. Hope you enjoy_

"You had a secret," Booth whispered. His face was pressed against hers, his mouth right next to her ear. Despite the volume of the music, the words were clear.

A secret he'd never imagined even existed. A note, written years ago, that she'd chosen to use as her wedding vows. It had shocked him, for just a heartbeat, to have those terrible hours referenced on their wedding day. But the words she'd said had been…well…they'd been perfect.

She was perfect. To think he got to spend the rest of his life with her.

"A woman's heart is a deep ocean of secrets," she quoted smoothly. Her dress made a gentle swishing motion as they moved together and Brennan found she rather enjoyed the feeling it evoked. She'd never had a chance to wear a dress like this, and never would again, so she relished every sensation she experienced.

This was it for her, she knew without a doubt. No matter what happened in the future, she would never again put on a wedding gown. This man, holding her so perfectly in his arms, was it for her.

Booth pulled back to see her satisfied grin. "Titanic, huh? We haven't watched the movie for a few months. And I'm pretty sure it didn't have the happy ending we got."

"True," Brennan agreed, giving a little laugh as Booth twirled her, feeling her dress swing out from her ankles and back again. "But I never thought we'd get this either when I wrote that note all those years ago."

"Why me?" Booth asked. He pulled her back toward him, needed to feel her close to him. "Of all the people you could have written to, why me?" Trapped in a car, close to dying, it humbled him to know that he was the choice she'd made, even so early in their relationship. Or partnership, as they'd worked so hard to convince others over the years.

In the end, the only people who had believed it was the two of them, and they'd believed it for far too long.

"Who else?" she asked. "Maybe Angela, as at the time, we were friends. But, you were changing my world in ways I hadn't imagined were possible. You just seemed…right. And I wanted you to know that, even if I never got a chance to say the words. I knew you'd find me, but I was also honest enough with myself to know that it might not be in time. So I needed you to know."

"But you waited, Bones. It's been a long time since you wrote that note." But he shook his head, wondering if it even mattered why she made that choice. "I did like to look," he said. The reason why didn't matter, he thought. It was the words that did. "Back then I was like a moth to a flame. You had more than enough power to burn me, Bones, but I couldn't stop myself. Still can't. And you could still burn me if you chose to."

"I assume you mean that metaphorically, Booth. And I am rather beautiful, which makes you want to look. But you weren't the only one who couldn't stop. You just always seemed to be one step ahead of me. It was so hard to stare without you catching me."

"I liked to catch you looking at me, Bones. It was fun to try and figure out what you were thinking. What I hoped you were thinking when you looked at me."

Twirling her again, Booth watched the dress swing out behind her. Was there anything more beautiful than the woman you loved on her wedding day? There was the day Christine was born, but this was different somehow. Despite all of the guests, this was theirs.

So many days. So many steps. Toward each other and back again. Crossing a line that kept them safe, but not whole.

They were finally right where they belonged.

"I imagined you without clothes, once or twice," she teased and then laughed as Booth stumbled slightly. "But I imagined you did the same."

"I imagined a lot of things, Bones," he admitted. Things she could do with him, to him. Sometimes she still had her clothes on. Other times, the clothing wasn't fit for any place but behind a closed bedroom door. But most of the time, she wore nothing at all. "But this was one day I never dared to think about. It turned out better that I ever could have pictured."

She took her eyes from his long enough to glance around. "I agree, Booth. I don't know how Angela pulled this off."

But Booth didn't want to talk about Angela. "I loved you first," he said. He'd loved her for so long the emotion filled every corner of his skin. It was as much a part of him as the blood that flowed through his veins. "I loved you even when I shouldn't have."

But Brennan disagreed with his assessment of their past. "You said the words first. Could accept the emotions first. But whether you felt them first? I think we could debate that. I loved you before I could say the words. Loved you when I knew I didn't have the right."

"Where have you kept that note hidden?" he asked. His fingers brushed the bare skin above her dress where she'd tucked it away again. "Through the moves, and Christine, the year apart and escaping that damn car with nothing more than an airbag and luck. How did you manage not to lose it?"

"I don't believe in luck. I considered the options and the airbag was the best option." She smiled indulgently at the annoyance on his face, knowing he didn't agree. "But, to answer your question, it's been in a safe deposit box. Where Brainy and Jasper went while I was in Maluku. Where they stayed, for a time, after I came back. Where all the important things go." She tilted her head, suddenly fascinated with his lips. Impulsively, she leaned up to kiss him, then pulled back and continued the conversation as if nothing had happened. "It occurs to me now that everything in that box had to do with you."

Still reeling from the unexpected kiss, it took his brain a moment to catch back up. "What's left in the box?"

"Nothing," she said. Inside she gloated at the power of her single kiss. "The note was the final item left. I hoped that one day, there would come a time when it was perfect for something. That's why you've never seen it. It took a long time for that moment to come, but I'm glad I waited."

"Me, too," he said. He pulled her closer as the band finished and moved into another song. Neither had noticed that most couples had left the dance floor and were standing on the outskirts watching the happy couple.

BbBbBbBbBb

"I can't believe Max won the pool," Hodgins grumbled, handing Angela another drink. "What do you think they're talking about out there?"

"Hopefully happily ever after and the next fifty years," Angela said cheerfully. She took the drink from her husband and took a healthy swallow. It was definitely a day for celebrations. "Did you know about the note?"

Hodgins shrugged and nodded. "I ripped the page out of the book and encouraged her to write it. But who she wrote it to, and what it said, was not something she shared." Hodgins watched them dance with a moment. "Apparently, she didn't share it at all. Until today."

"To think she wrote those words to Booth all those years ago and didn't realized she was in love with him, even then." Angela shook her head, reflecting on the paths all of them had taken. "I'm glad that life brought us here," she said, leaning into her husband. "There were so many places it could have all gone wrong."

"And so many places it went right, Angie. Buried alive in a car, a year spent on the other side of the world. Do you think we'd still be standing here if any of it was different?"

"Are you asking if I believe in fate, Hodgins?" Her eyes drifted from the dance floor, to his brilliant blue ones and back to the dance floor again. They watched in silence as their friends danced slowly in each other's arms. "You know I do. Some things, you just know. The first time I saw them together, I knew."

"Yeah," he said, marveling at the faith his wife had carried. "You always believed."

BbBbBbBbBbBb

"They're watching us," Brennan said, leaning a little closer to Booth. She'd noticed the eyes on them as she'd glanced around the room and the attention made her uncomfortable.

He hated to even take his eyes from her, but Booth glanced quickly around them before returning his attention right where it belonged. "Let them watch."

"Why?" Brennan asked, resting her head on his shoulder. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the feeling of his arms around her.

"Why are they watching us?" He felt her nod into his chest and he bent to kiss the top of her head. "Because they've rooted for us. Kept faith in us. Even when we weren't sure, they were. You can't underestimate that kind of faith, Bones. They love us. They're our family. So our happiness is theirs."

"Are you?" she asked, picking up her head. "Happy?"

He looked at her with a bemused expression. "Why would you ask me something like that? Do you think I'm not?"

"Of course not, Booth. I just…you put feelings into words so much better than I do. I just wanted to hear you say it."

"I love you, Temperance Brennan. You have made my life so much better, so much more than I ever thought it could be. Arriving at this moment has always been my greatest dream. I'll have to come up with a new one now, though it will be hard to come up with something that tops this."

"Spending every moment of our lives together for the fifty years you wanted," Brennan sighed. "That sounds like a good dream."

"No, Bones," he said. When she looked up at him in confusion, he took the opportunity to kiss her. Possessively. At the edge of the dance floor, several women fanned themselves or shared knowing glances with their own husband. "Spending fifty years with you isn't a dream. It's our reality now. One I look very forward to living."


	5. The Notebooks

_A/N: Sometimes, you sit down to write a story, and it's all there, right in front of you. The beginning, the middle and the end. That was the way it was with this one shot. Which is why the update has come so quickly. It it linked with Chapter 2, The Box, and you might want to read that one first._

 _This one is long, but I didn't feel right breaking it up, so you get the whole thing. Thank you for the reviews, the favorites, and the follows. For those of you who read and don't review, thanks to you to._

 _I should tell you, I don't know the rules of a safe house, and I hope I never need to know the rules. So I made up my own. If they're wrong, it's totally my fault._

 _I hope you enjoy. As usual, I don't own Bones._

 _Present Day_

"What was it like for you?" Brennan asked, tossing the box and everything it represented for her, into the garbage. It was time to let that past go and finally heal from what happened so many years ago. But there were still some questions she wanted and needed Booth to answer.

"Being in the safe house?" Booth asked. His voice was muffled as he looked in the refrigerator for a drink, changing his mind at the last moment. Instead of the bottle of water he'd started reaching for, he shifted his hand slightly to the left and grabbed a cold bottle of beer. He held the bottle up silently toward his wife and she nodded her head.

"Yes, Booth, being in the safe house." She a healthy drink from the bottle. "We've talked about what I did, what I didn't do the weeks you were gone. But it occurs to me that no one ever asked what it was like for you. I know how you like to pretend Angela and Hodgins and the team meant little to you, but I don't believe that was true. You let all of us think you were dead for two weeks. That must have been hard."

"Not you," he corrected. "It wasn't supposed to be you."

She waved her hand. "I know that and accepted that it wasn't your fault a long time ago. And I forgave you for it. But that doesn't change what you did. Or how it must have made you feel."

Booth took his own drink, his eyes on his wife. "For someone who claims they don't understand emotions, I think you get more than you let on. But to answer your question, it made me feel like shit. Physically, emotionally, it sucked." He took a second drink from the bottle, then a third, coming close to draining it. Brennan's eyes narrowed, but she didn't comment. His actions at the very moment told her how hard it had been for him.

"I didn't think too much about anyone but you," he admitted softly. "And I tried not to do that too much. But I came to some realizations that week. And there's a secret in that story I've never shared with anyone. Let's go have a seat, Bones. And I'll tell you about my two weeks…"

 _Day One_

"Are you sure this is a good idea, sir," Booth asked for a second time. "I understand the reasoning behind it, but are we sure he's even in the country?"

Resting in a chair that wasn't as comfortable as it should have been, his arm in a sling, Booth met the cool eyes of his boss without flinching. He'd agreed to this plan in a drug induced stupor, where everything sounded like a good idea. Now that he was fully awake, and on weaker pain killers, he was starting to have second thoughts.

Cullen stared down the agent across for him, no more intimidated than Booth was. "He's in the country, Booth. Everything is set. I figure no more than ten to fourteen days before everything is over. You wouldn't have been able to work either way. So it's a good use of your recovery time."

Booth tapped his good fingers on the arm of the chair. On either side of him, just visible in his periphery, were two other agents who'd be spending the next two weeks in the house with him. Weeks typically filled with card games and sports to fill the hours. He'd never done it himself, but he'd heard from fellow agents that it wasn't a bad way to spend two weeks.

But other agents didn't have Temperance Brennan for a partner.

"And you're sure everyone on the list I gave you was informed?" Booth asked. He was worried about Parker, Rebecca, Pops. But if he was truly honest with himself, there was only one person who's reaction to his supposed death he was worried about.

Pops could take care of himself. Rebecca would take care of his son.

Who would take care of Bones? There was something about this whole thing that was giving him pause, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

"I gave the list to someone I trusted to take care of it. That should be good enough for you, Agent Booth."

It should have been. Anyone Cullen trusted could probably do the job.

But it wasn't. Not that there was anything Booth could do about it.

"Now be a good agent, rest, recover, watch some television with the guys. The two weeks should pass quickly."

"Which safe house is this?" Booth asked, knowing arguing was useless at this point. He'd agreed. There was no turning back now.

"Country home," Cullen said. His voice was gruff, bordering on annoyance, but it frequently sounded that way since the death of his daughter. "There is nothing for a mile in any direction. Even the driveway is a half a mile from the main road. It should be safe for you to walk the lawn when you are able, since no one is actively trying to kill you. We just need to make sure word of your fake death doesn't get out until we want it to."

"There better be good cable here," Booth grumbled. Cullen smirked as he stood, knowing the agents assigned to stay with Booth were in for a rough time. Being the boss had its perks.

"I'll be back in four days," Cullen said. "Don't kill the guys with you before then."

Another nod from Booth and Cullen walked away to talk with the other two agents. It was only for two weeks, Booth told himself. Bones would be okay without him. She was tough. No one would get to her when he wasn't there to protect her.

If only his gut could be convinced of the same thing.

 _Day Two_

Booth sat on the edge of his bed, breathing deeply. He hoped the nightmare had been a silent one, and the sounds he made in his dreams hadn't been heard by any ears but his own.

Being unable to talk to Bones was triggering all sorts of emotions he didn't like.

There had been days they hadn't spoken before. But the choice to do so had never been taken away from him. Now, he couldn't pick up the phone and text her when he needed to.

It was killing him.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Booth rose from the bed gingerly and entered the bathroom attached to the bedroom. The house he was hidden in was beautiful and Booth assumed it was a new addition to the list of safe houses the FBI kept near DC. The list changed constantly and most agents only knew where a house was when they needed to access it. The agency would hold on to this one for a time, then sell it and find another. The constant change and secrecy kept people safe.

It was going to drive him insane.

He turned on the overhead lights and stared at the mirror. Haunted eyes saw a face that needed to shave and circles under his eyes.

Gingerly, he worked himself out of the shirt he wore and removed the bandage from his chest. The doctors had done a rather nice job of sewing him up, but he would have felt better if Bones could have taken a look at the wound. He trusted her assessment more than he would ever trust any doctor's.

The damage would heal and the scar it left behind would simply be another badge he wore proudly. He'd taken the bullet for Bones. Without hesitation. And he'd do it again.

Temperance Brennan. Bones. When had she wormed her way into his heart? What was he going to do about it? She clearly wasn't ready for that kind of declaration and Booth wasn't sure she would ever be. Could he live with that kind of temptation?

Was there any way he could live without it?

Looking around for a bandage, Booth found nothing but a box of bandaids under the sink. It was awkward trying to place them with only one hand, but he did it. This wasn't the first wound he'd managed alone. Hell, it wasn't even the worst.

With no phone to check the time, no contact with anyone outside the safe house was allowed, Booth reentered the bedroom and looked at the clock radio that only half worked. It told the time. The radio portion was good if you liked to listen to static.

Three in the morning. Long after the witching hour. Long before the sun would rise.

Knowing there would be no more sleep that night, Booth managed to lay back down on the bed in a somewhat comfortable position. He should have taken more pain meds, but now that he was down, he wasn't getting up again.

Instead, he began to imagine all the different ways he could apologize to Bones for forcing her to lie to her friends.

 _Day Three_

"How in the hell do you not like sports?" Booth demanded. At the opposite end of the couch, Agent Larry Anderson sat with his feet up on the coffee table. With his shoes on. Didn't the man have any decency? The table looked like an antique, similar to one his grandmother had lovingly taken care of years ago. The man could at least pretend to have some respect.

The other agent, Jefferson Smith, had left ten minutes ago to walk the perimeter of the property. Something Booth would be doing himself, sooner rather than later, no matter how exhausted the smallest tasks still made him.

Anderson shrugged, but didn't look over. "I don't see the point of grown men acting like small children."

"Did you even play sports as a child?"

"Of course, I did." Anderson said. "I played football and baseball in high school. But I grew up."

Booth bristled with anger, but pushed at the emotion hard. He needed to stay calm during the day and maybe his sleep would be a little quieter at night.

Maybe he'd quit dreaming that Bones was in trouble and he wasn't there to save her.

Maybe he wouldn't cry out in his sleep each time she died alone, without him.

Was she hiding in Limbo, trying to pretend that he was dead? Lying was hard for Bones. Would Angela see right through her? It was entirely possible.

"What about cards?" Anderson asked, rising from the couch. He was tall and lanky and looked awkward as he crossed the room. Booth figured he probably sucked at sports and that's why he didn't like them now. Anderson was jealous because he'd never been a star.

"I don't play," Booth said coldly, offering no further explanation.

"Fine," Anderson said. This assignment was turning into a major pain the ass. It will be like vacation his supervisor had said. It wasn't like the agent's life was in danger, they just needed to hide him for a couple of weeks.

Besides, he was injured and would probably sleep most of the time.

They hadn't mentioned what a jerk the guy was. Or how they could hear him pace the floor during the night.

How he didn't like to do anything but watch sports and snap at any suggestion they might make to force time to go a little faster.

That was the thing about time. You could never force it to do what you wanted it to.

"I sure as hell hope Cullen comes tomorrow," Booth said, starting the rotation through the channels again. The sports package on this television was dismal. And don't even get him started on the television itself.

"Shit, Bones," he whispered below the voice of a rather excited announcer. "I miss you."

 _Day Four_

"Is there anything you need, Agent Booth? How does the wound look? Should I have the FBI doctor stop by?"

Cullen had already briefed Booth on the situation. Their man had been spotted in California recently. There was talk he was making his way back toward DC. The date of the fake funeral was set. All anyone could do now was wait and see if he arrived.

"The only doctor that will look at this wound is Bones," Booth said. "Is she okay?"

Cullen looked at him sharply. He was starting to wonder about his favorite agent and the woman Booth was partnered with. There had been rumors that something was going on between them, and it if wasn't, it soon would be.

He didn't think they were to that point, yet, but Cullen was starting to think it was only a matter of time.

"Temperance is fine, Agent Booth. She's spending a lot of time at the lab." And Booth's apartment, Cullen had been informed. She was doing a great job convincing the entire world Booth was dead, and Cullen was relieved. If any person had been a weak point in this plan. Cullen had feared it was her.

Booth nodded, but was surprised by Cullen's answer. Bones would want to disappear if she was trying to hide something, not hang out with people who could read her like a book. When had her acting skills gotten so much better?

"You didn't answer my question, agent," Cullen said. He waited until Booth blinked and came back from wherever he'd drifted off to. "Do you need anything?"

"Agents who like sports," Booth grumbled. Smith hadn't been any better than Anderson and they were both avoiding Booth like the plague. Not that Booth cared. He wasn't very good company right now.

Cullen actually laughed and got up to head toward the door when Booth's voice stopped him.

"I want books."

It wasn't an answer Cullen expected. "Books, Agent Booth?"

He'd spent some time thinking about it the night before, when sleep once again had been elusive. "All of the books, articles, anything Bones has ever written. Her fiction, her scientific articles, all of it. Oh," Booth said, another thought occurring to him, "you better bring a dictionary with it, too."

One eyebrow raised, Cullen stared at his agent, who returned the look without embarrassment. "A dictionary?"

"Ever try to read one of her scientific articles? I'm sure I won't know what half of the words mean."

If he'd been unsure of how Booth felt about his partner, he wasn't anymore. "I can get that for you. I'll bring it by tomorrow," Cullen promised, knowing a longer wait would be intolerable.

He'd already given Smith and Anderson a pep talk on getting through the remainder of the time. The books Booth requested might be enough of a distraction that there wasn't a blood bath at this house by the time the fake funeral rolled around.

 _Day Five_

Arriving early the next morning, Cullen forced Anderson and Smith to help him carry the boxes into the house and deposit them in Booth's bedroom.

"This is all I could pull together in less than twenty-four hours," Cullen said. "Her novels just took a stop at a local book store. My poor secretary found the rest of the items. I had to make up some damn excuse on why I needed the stuff. She's going to be pissed when she finds out the truth."

Rifling through the boxes, Booth found several notebooks and pens, items he hadn't requested. He held them up.

Cullen shrugged. "I thought you might want to take notes."

No, he hadn't thought of that. But now that Cullen suggested it, he knew he would. "Thank you, sir." Cullen could see the agent hesitate and waited him out. "You're sure she's okay, sir?"

The tension was clear in Booth's shoulders and Cullen felt sorry for the man. "Why did you agree to this, Agent Booth, knowing what it was going to cost you?"

Looking up in surprise, Booth licked his lips and tried to come up with an answer that would satisfy his boss. _I think I'm falling in love with her_ didn't seem like the appropriate response.

"She'll be fine," Booth said. "I knew Bones could handle it. And we need to catch this guy before he kills anyone else."

Pressing his lips together, Cullen let the vague answer go. "The next time I ask, Agent Booth, tell me no. Trust me, I'll understand."

 _The rest of the days…_

Booth locked himself in the bedroom and came out only to eat. The two men, relieved to no longer have to deal with his mercurial moods, enjoyed the rest of the stay. They watched movies and played cards, and generally ignored the third man in the house. For them, it had finally turned into the almost vacation they'd been promised when they'd taken the job to begin with.

For Booth, it was like being back at the academy. Only worse. None of the texts he'd read, or pretended to read, had required this much effort. His notebook was rapidly filling with definitions and notes. Booth was pretty sure he was going to have to ask Cullen for several more before his time in purgatory was up.

But he also began to understand a little bit more about the woman he worked with, and just how brilliant she was. Yes, she bragged about it, but Booth was pretty sure she deserved to. Many of the techniques she'd written articles about were things she'd created herself. The newer articles included references to techniques she'd used during cases they'd worked together. Cases that never would have been solved without her brilliant mind.

There were notes in margins of magazines and on the edges of textbook pages. Some were more personal in nature than they should have been, but knowing Bones wouldn't see them, Booth took risks he probably shouldn't have. He was like a love struck teenager, and Booth took advantage of the escape the feeling provided him.

In the back of the last notebook, the one that was yellow like daisies, Booth had written other things. Things that maybe, one day, he'd get the chance to share with his partner. Until then, they would remain as secret as this house. It was the only thing he could do.

He loved her. There was no way around it, no way to pretend he didn't. He loved her, but he had to tuck that emotion away just like everything else he'd packed up. There would be a time and place to tell her.

Someday.

He hoped.

The boxes were taped shut, everything tucked away carefully inside, when Cullen arrived to pick him up for the funeral. "What do you want me to do with this stuff, Agent Booth?"

He'd thought about it a long time and come up with the only solution that might work. "I need a favor, sir. After these last two weeks, and what I gave up, I hope you don't mind me asking."

Cullen didn't have to ask what Booth had given up. He already knew. "What is it?"

"I want you to store these for me. Maybe in your garage or attic. Someplace where if I ever need them, or want them, I can get to them. But…right now…I can't…"

"Let Temperance find them?" Cullen finished for him. He gave a short nod and picked up the first of the boxes. "I'll send the other guys in for the rest. And, Agent Booth, I'll have the form ready. You let me know when you need me to sign it."

Booth's eyes narrowed. "Form, sir?"

The laugh he gave was tinged with just a bit of sadness. Perhaps his agent wasn't quite as smart as he thought. "When you're ready, when you're both ready, you'll understand."

 _Present Day_

"Does he still have them?" Bones asked, her feet tucked beneath her.

"As far as I know," Booth said, finishing his second beer. Bones had retrieved it for him and another for her, halfway through the story, not wanting him to stop. It hadn't taken longer than he planned. "I'm sure we can ask him tomorrow."

"I'd like to read your notes, Booth. Your mind is as brilliant as mine, just in different ways. I'd like to see the connections you drew."

He disagreed with the assessment of his mind compared to hers, but chose not to argue. "There's one more secret in those boxes," he said. He played with the label on the bottle in his hand, suddenly uncomfortable.

Her eyes narrowed in concern. "Did you secretly demote the other agents, or something, Booth?"

He laughed. "Nothing like that, though I would have liked to. I wrote you notes, Bones. I guess you could call them letters." He cleared his throat. "Maybe even call them love letters. No one has ever seen them." He shrugged. "I just wanted to connect with you, so I wrote about my days, how much I missed you."

"You were embarrassed," she concluded, startling Booth.

"Well…yeah. I was a little old to be writing love letters. And it wasn't like we were even a couple or you were in love with me. So I hid them away."

"I would treasure them, Booth. But I understand if you don't want to show me."

"No," he said. He shook his head and looked directly at her. "I want you to have them. You should read them." His head still moving gently back and forth, he broke the eye contact. "Cullen didn't know what Sweets had done. Several agents told him you kept going to my apartment, that you seemed wrong somehow, but he didn't make the connection. We thought you'd suddenly gotten better acting skills. None of us had any idea."

"Cullen called me. Apologized. I forgave him. Just like I forgave you. Neither of you could be blamed for the decisions of one man. Beyond the fact it was the logical decision to come to regarding what had happened, I knew it was the right one."

"If I had known…"

"But you didn't, Booth. And I refuse to hold it against you." Brennan waved her hand in the air, as if to brush the topic of blame away. "That's why you never worried," Brennan said, filling in some of the blanks. "Why you never worried Cullen would break up our partnership."

Booth nodded. "It was after everything with Zack, when I felt like we were starting to breath again, when I remembered the form and finally realized what he'd meant. When I went to sign it, I asked him if it was the same one he'd filled out years ago. It was."

"All those years, even now, you've pretended to not understand the Lab, and you've understood way more than you let on."

Shrugging, Booth picked up both bottles and took them to the sink. "I liked to listen to you explain things to me, Bones. Sometimes it was the only reason I could find to spend time with you. Ask you to explain how you came to your conclusions or what that would mean to us in court. And it forced you to speak English words to me. So it was practice for you, too."

When Booth returned to sit next to her on the couch, Brennan scooted herself into his lap. "I guess that two weeks sucked for both of us," she sighed.

"Yeah." He leaned his head back against the couch. "I think I need a nap."

Brennan glanced at the clock. "The kids won't be home for another hour. I think we can make better use of our time."

Suddenly not feeling so tired anymore, Booth scooped her into his arms and rose to his feet. He silenced her protest with a kiss that led to much more interesting things when they finally made it to the bedroom.

"I love you, Temperance Brennan," he whispered as he rested next to her naked body.

"That's good, Booth. Because I love you, too."


	6. The Long Night

_A/N: I didn't get an opportunity to rewatch the episode before I wrote this, so I can't be sure this is totally plausible given the storyline. But I liked the idea, so I went with it._

 _Three updates in a weekend, I think you guys are spoiled. I'm afraid that will be it for a couple of days. Real life calls._

 _As usual, I don't own Bones._

"Hey, Bones, what's this?" Booth asked, grabbing a file folder from the counter. "It looks like an invite to a conference."

Brennan, returning from the back of the house where she'd just put their children to bed, nodded. "Yes, it is a conference invite. It's for the American Academy of Forensic Sciences. I've been asked to speak this year. Again." She took the folder from Booth and opened it. Inside was a flyer and the paperwork necessary for registration. "Unfortunately, I'm afraid I'll be turning them down this year."

Surprised, Booth looked closely at his wife. "You've spoken at that conference for the last ten years straight. We've often used it as a chance to get away together or as a family. Why wouldn't you want to go?"

Sighing, she removed the flyer from the file and pushed it toward him. "It's in Las Vegas this year, Booth. I haven't gone alone to that conference since we became a couple. I won't go without you."

If his heart rate picked up a little, Booth pretended not to notice. Vegas, with the bells and lights and card tables was definitely a place he couldn't go. Ever. He pushed the flyer back toward his wife with a bit more force than necessary. "You can go without me."

Her eyes were full of understanding but thankfully, not pity. She'd seen his pupils dilate when she mentioned Las Vegas and knew her assessment of the situation had been correct. "No, Booth. I won't go without you."

The breath he took was deep, but it allowed him to slow his heart rate and his breathing. "Don't be ridiculous, Bones. This conference was made for you. I don't want you giving it up for me. That just makes it worse, somehow. Take Angela. Make it a girls' weekend. Hodgins and I can handle the kids. Maybe get tickets to a game."

Sure, Bones could get him tickets to a game, and he could spend the weekend pretending that he hadn't wanted to go with her.

Because he did. But he knew he couldn't. There was no way he'd make that mistake twice.

He paced away from her and back again. Twice. Three times. Finally, he stopped in front of her and angrily poked the flyer with his finger. "It pisses me off that I can't go with you. You understand that, right? That I'm too weak to be able to handle a weekend in this place."

When he went to tap at the paper again, she flattened his hand beneath hers. "What I see," she said, her voice the calm in the center of his storm, "is a man who's _strong_ enough to recognize that he can't go and accept it. I would have been worried if you'd tried to attend with me, Booth. This, for me, is a relief. That no matter how much you want to go with me, to make sure I'm safe, you understand that is a risk you cannot take."

He knew she didn't say anything she didn't mean, but he had to ask anyway. "Really?"

"Really," she said, and what he saw in her eyes, allowed him to accept the answer. "Besides," she said with a laugh, tucking the flyer away again, "maybe without you there I'll get some sleep this time. Of course, Angela will probably want to stay out all night, so maybe not."

"Wait…what?" he asked, trying to catch up with her. "We've only been to Vegas once, Bones. When we went undercover for the fight club case. We had separate rooms. You should have slept. I made sure to give you time to get a little."

He hadn't slept. Half the night had been spent in a cold sweat, fighting the urge to go back down the elevator to the casino. Fighting had taken everything he'd had and twice Booth had stopped himself just before he opened the door.

There was no way he could make it through another night in that city. Which was too bad, in a way. There were a lot of cool things there. But the casinos were too much of a temptation.

"I've kept what I did a secret. I didn't want to anger you. But I didn't get any sleep that night."

Pulling out a chair, Booth sat. "Okay, I'm ready. What did you do that night, Bones? Did you go gamble? Try and find the fight club by yourself? Go shopping? What did you do that you didn't want me to know?" The thought of her doing any of those things caused his blood pressure to spike again.

Closing the folder, she tapped it against the counter. A sign of how nervous she was. "I knew you were struggling, Booth. All the lights and the sounds. I felt angry at the fact that you came with me instead of sending someone else. And you hadn't been sober for long. So I was worried."

"You were my partner. Still are. If it's a case, we go together, or we don't go at all."

She'd gone to New Orleans alone, and he hadn't been there to keep her safe. And the time Booth had been injured and the agent assigned in his place had tried to kill her. No, she didn't go on a case without him.

She put the folder down to pat his hand. "I know that, Booth. And I've always appreciated that. Where I go, you go. But in that case, you shouldn't have gone."

Looking back on it now, she was probably right. "I thought I'd be okay. And I was. Managed all by myself."

"You weren't alone in your fight, Booth. You simply thought you were."

"You didn't spend the night with me, Bones. But, God, that black dress you wore…" his pupils dilated for a different reason this time. "I meant what I said. You were hot. I wanted to spend the night with you. And not sleep." A scary thought occurred to him. "Please tell me that wasn't what you were doing."

"Having sexual intercourse?" she asked in her typically blunt manner. "Of course not." Brennan smiled at his obvious relief. "You were hot, too, in your suit. It would have been nice to spend the night with you, but…" she shrugged. "It would have been more comfortable for me, that's for sure."

"Okay, Bones, enough cryptic," Booth demanded. "Where were you?"

Licking her lips, she smiled gamely. "I spent the night in the hall. Outside our doors."

"Outside the doors," Booth repeated slowly. "In the hall. Where anyone could have walked by and spotted you sitting? What the hell were you thinking, Bones? We were undercover. You could have blown the whole thing."

"But I didn't," she said. It was an argument she frequently used when a decision she made didn't impact whatever Booth was concerned about. He found it infuriating. "No one passed by the entire night. Including you," she added.

" _I_ was in my room," he said. "Where I was _supposed_ to be. Where you were supposed to be. Damn, Bones, didn't you ever follow the rules?"

Brennan narrowed her eyes at him. "I don't know why you are so annoyed. You wanted to know what I did and I'm telling you. You should be more appreciative Booth."

He snorted. "Appreciate the idea that you almost ruined our case?" He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "So why did you do it, Bones?"

Her hand slapped the counter hard enough that Booth feared she would wake the kids. Surprised at her sudden flash of anger, he looked down at her hand and back up again. "Bones, I didn't mean…," he tried to explain.

But her answer interrupted him. "I didn't do it for the case. Or for me. It had nothing to do with either. I did it for you." She raked her eyes over him. "Though the way you're reacting, I'm starting to wonder if the loss of sleep was worth it."

A warm hand came down over hers. "I'm sorry, Bones. A part of me is still frustrated I can't go with you. I don't mean to take it out on you."

"I hope I didn't wake the children," Brennan said, pulling her hand from beneath his. She knew Booth was hurt he couldn't go with her this year. So, she walked away from him and toward the bedrooms, giving both time to regain control of emotions.

When she returned, it was to a freshly made drink and a clearly apologetic Booth. Taking a small sip, she finally gave him a reassuring smile. "It's okay, Booth. And you are correct in assuming I took a chance that night. And you don't like it when I take chances, no matter the outcome."

He stood and ran his fingers through her hair before pulling her forward to press a kiss to her forehead. "You sat outside that door so I couldn't go downstairs, didn't you?" he said, his lips so close to her skin she could feel them move. "You waited outside that door to stop me if I didn't have enough strength to stop myself."

A step back allowed her to see his face. "There is strength in admitting that you don't have enough. There is no weakness in admitting that you need help. But I wasn't sure if you knew that I could give you what you needed, or if you'd ask for it. So I made sure you wouldn't have to."

"I could have walked through that connecting door at anytime, Bones, and noticed you were missing. It would have scared me to see you were gone." Even now, after all their years together, it scared him when he woke and she wasn't next to him in bed. Thankfully, she knew that and frequently waited for him to wake before leaving his side.

"But you would have walked out the door to look for me, and you wouldn't have had to look far. I sat there, in a chair from the room, with my laptop on my lap, all night. I wrote some rather good stuff for my book that night. Finished some case files. And I stood guard. For you."

"How long did you wait?"

"Until just before the time our alarms were set to go off. It's hard to close hotel doors quietly, but I managed. You never had any idea."

He shook his head and pulled her tight against his body. "You give up too much for me, Bones. I'm not sure I deserve it."

"You deserve all I have to give and more, Booth. What I did that night wasn't anything amazing. It was simply one friend looking out for another the only way I knew how. You should have asked me to stay with you that night. But you always have to prove how strong you are. So I let you prove it. That's why I didn't tell you. I didn't want you to feel weak."

And he would have, if she'd had done anything else. But she'd allowed him to protect his pride. Something that didn't need quite as much protecting anymore. At least when it came to his gambling addiction. He knew what he could handle and what he couldn't. And he wasn't afraid to admit that to her.

"Thank you, Bones. For all the things you've done for me. Even the things I don't know about." He laughed and let her go, grabbing the folder from where it rested. "I have a feeling there are quite a few things I don't know about." When she didn't deny it, he laughed again. "Call Angela. I'm okay with you going with her. She'll love it. And I'll be here. Waiting for you."

"You're sure?" she asked, taking the folder from him. "I won't do this if you don't want me to."

"I'm sure, Bones. Call Angela."

She smiled and motioned for him to follow. "Perhaps after that we should look at the schedule and see what games you would like to see this weekend. My publisher owes me a few favors considering my latest book sales."

"Let me clean up. I'll be right behind you."

Watching her walk away, Booth marveled at the miracle that was his wife.

And at the same time wondered: What other secrets were floating around that brilliant brain of hers?

He looked forward to finding out.


	7. The Manuscript

_A/N: Not all the secrets can be happy. A little angst helps balance everything out. I also feel like there will be a sequel to this chapter. This story is not quite finished._

 _Several people have also said that the premise_ _of The_ _Long Night probably couldn't have happened based on the way the episode was written. Sorry. I'm glad you still enjoyed it._

 _Thanks for reading. I've been overwhelmed by the positive feedback. I really appreciate it. As usual, I don't own Bones._

He paced the house. Kitchen, living room, bedroom, and back again. The same path, the same number of steps. He knew. He'd counted.

It had started with a pencil. Such a simple object. But why, when you needed one, were they so impossible to find.

The search was made worse by the fact that he didn't know the house yet. Didn't know where Bones had moved his junk drawer to. Didn't know where she kept the unsharpened ones. Couldn't find anything in this house. The house that was hers.

Except, it was his. Or theirs. A house to replace the one destroyed in a gun battle he'd hoped was a nightmare. But, nope. Each morning he opened his eyes to a ceiling that was his, but not. A bedroom that didn't feel like home.

How was a man supposed to feel safe in a home that was made of nothing but glass? No matter how many times Brennan showed him the receipt for the replacement glass, the glass that was supposed to be bulletproof, he had a hard time believing he was safe.

Was he safe? Was this home? Booth still wasn't sure. Maybe, he could convince his head, but in the end, he wasn't sure he could convince his heart.

Everything here was wrong. Christine's bedroom was supposed to be on the left side of the hall, not the right. And he was getting tired of tripping over the step that didn't used to be there. Someday, everything new would become old, right? What was out of place would be normal again?

Someday couldn't come fast enough.

Pacing wasn't finding a pencil, so he changed his route. A second time opening and closing kitchen drawers. What had she done with the stuff in the junk drawer? A detour toward the living room where he found nothing except a plastic box of Christine's crayons. Finally he headed toward her office, the place he probably should have gone to begin with.

Except this was her place. He was surrounded by her here, Her smells, the pictures, the books that she'd authored, both fiction and non. It was harder to hide from the feelings here and there was one that continued to dominate.

He'd let her down. Ruined their home. She'd been forced to move, to survive the last three months alone and it was entirely his fault.

If only they could have figured out the conspiracy sooner, maybe they'd still be in the home he'd restored with his own hands. If only things had been a little different, Bones wouldn't have had to salvage their things alone.

If only he'd been a little smarter, a little faster, maybe Sweets would still be alive.

But Booth couldn't go there. Not yet. Some wounds were still too fresh.

Opening drawers and closing them with a little more force than necessary, Booth found pens and pencils, but he didn't reach for a single one. He wasn't even sure that's what he was looking for anymore. Perhaps he looked for answers to questions he didn't dare to ask.

Maybe, in the drawers, he looked for the faith he didn't know he'd lost.

What he found instead, was a box tucked up high on a bookshelf. The top was dusty and while he knew Bones often reassured him that nothing in the office was a secret, he still felt a little funny reaching up to grab it. This was her sanctuary, just as she'd created one for him, and he felt as if he were invading it.

But it didn't stop him. Because he needed something. And he hoped, with a little more looking, he just might find it.

Even, if he couldn't name it.

BbBbBbBb

Brennan came home from grocery shopping only an hour after Booth opened her office door. She'd dropped Christine off at her father's house. Despite her inability to sense feelings well, she'd nevertheless known something was wrong with her husband.

She knew he hadn't truly accepted that it was over. That the conspiracy was broken and this was their home now. Nor had he truly mourned the death of Sweets. She worried about what would happen when everything metaphorically crashed into him at once. Would he stand or would something inside him break?

"Booth," she called, carrying several canvas bags full of food into the kitchen. Usually he met her at the door and helped finish this chore. Most of the time, he insisted he be the one to carry the bags inside, despite the issues with his back. There was a ritual to it; he carried and she admonished him for carrying too much.

It was just another thing that had changed since he'd come home. Was this the new normal now, or was it just taking longer than she expected to find their way back to the old?

"Are you okay, Booth?" she called again when he didn't respond. Leaving the rest of the items in her car, she walked through the house, surprised to find him sitting in her office.

"You okay, Booth?" she asked again, lowering her voice. It wasn't until she took another step into the room and noticed that box in front of him that she realized exactly what he'd found.

"I thought you deleted this," he said roughly when her hand touched his shoulder. The box, and the papers it contained sat in front of him at his feet. It was clear he'd read some of them, piling them carefully off to the side. The remainder, were still in the small box.

"I did, that day in the hospital room. But apparently, I had autosave turned on. A few months later, I found the backup copy and printed it out. Put it in a box. Didn't you notice how dusty it was when you opened it?"

Of course, he had. He'd sneezed twice when he brushed a hand over the top. But he hadn't taken the time to consider what that meant. "Why would you save the damn thing?"

She came around to the front of his chair to see his face. When he didn't raise his head, she sat on the floor and looked up toward him. "Tell me what's going on, Booth," Brennan commanded softly. Because she knew it had very little to do with a story she should have tossed years ago.

A toe connected softly with the half empty box. He didn't speak for several moments before shrugging. "I wanted to find a pencil. What I found was this."

"This is a story, Booth. One I wrote five years ago to help me through a difficult time. Its impact on you was unintended. But I don't understand why you are so upset." Because she could clearly see the stain of tears on his cheeks.

"Don't you, Bones?" he asked, finally raising his eyes to meet hers. "Don't you understand why I'm so upset. I couldn't find a damn pencil in my own house. I know so little about this place, I didn't know where to look for a pencil."

"Booth…"

"No," he interrupted sharply. "I came in here to find a pencil and I found tons of them. But suddenly I couldn't remember why I wanted one to begin with. And I saw this box and opened it to find a story about a different life. A better life than the one you've been forced to live with me."

Her eyebrows came down and Booth recognized the anger. "No one forces me to do anything, Seeley Booth. And if you think my staying with you is because you somehow forced me to, you are being ridiculous." Using her hand she pushed at the box he'd opened. "This was a story, nothing more. They told me to talk to you, so I did. Told you a story to make you want to come back to me. It was terrifying to think you might not. So I loved you the only way I could then. In my imagination."

He snorted. "We weren't a couple, Bones. And you told me a story where you were pregnant and happy. We were happy. We weren't being chased by killers or staring at dead bodies every single day of our lives. A story you saved. Apparently, there is something in it that you agree with. You apparently loved that life. Is that what you want now?"

"Oh, Booth," she said, and her tone of voice had him raising an eyebrow. Why did she suddenly sound disappointed? "I wrote a story about a life I wanted, but wasn't strong enough to reach for. I was too afraid of being hurt, so I let myself feel nothing at all. The story was a safe way to feel."

"So you do want something different. That's why you saved it," he said. Booth jumped to his own conclusions, a mistake he frequently made when she was trying to explain something. He knew sometimes it took her a little longer to make her point, but tonight, he didn't have the patience for it. "God, Bones, why did you do all of this, the house, my stuff, if you didn't want it anymore?"

But she refused to be sucked into his conclusions. "How much of the story do you remember, Booth? All of it? Did you reread the whole thing, or simply stop after the first hundred words?"

What did he remember? It was an interesting question. There were times, even today, he had to ask if something had actually happened or was a memory from the story. The two lives he'd lived were hard to separate. But there was one clear point he had never forgotten. "You were pregnant. We were happy."

"Who was the father of that baby, Booth?"

His eyes darkened at the thought. "I was, Bones. Damn it, it will always be me." He'd wanted that baby so badly when he'd finally woken and had mourned just a little when he'd realized it had all been part of the dream.

"Exactly, Booth. It was you. I could have told you a story about any couple. Angela and Hodgins, for example. But I told you a story all about us. The setting wasn't important. The secondary characters even less so. I built a world where we were together. A world I wanted but was too afraid to fight for. It's always been you, Booth. Crimefighters, bar owners, parents, you're the only partner I've ever wanted for any of it."

And Booth understood that he'd been right in thinking she sounded disappointed. But not in him. In herself.

"I've ruined so much, Bones," he whispered. "I feel like it's not the pencils I can't find, but myself. And Sweets isn't here anymore. Who do I talk to about that?"

"You talk to me, Booth. And you've ruined nothing."

Booth looked away. "I don't know how you believe that, Bones."

"Because I love you. And I believe in us. This story was just that. A story about us. And maybe our story is different. Maybe we've had more ups and downs than the fictional us I wrote about, but that's what made it a story. And that's what makes us real. No one forces me to stay, I choose to stay. This is the story I want us to tell. Not the one where everything is always happy in the end and everything is fake. Sometimes, things have to turn out sad so you can appreciate the happy. That's what makes this real."

He nodded and Brennan knew he heard, but didn't believe. She couldn't find his faith for him, but would wait by his side until he finally found it for himself again.

The sigh caused his shoulders to heave and Brennan thought it might have been part sob. But he wasn't ready to let go. And she wasn't going to force him to do so before he was ready. "What are you going to do with the manuscript?"

Her eyes widened at the use of the word. "It's a story, Booth. Not the manuscript to a book."

His palm cupped her cheek. Eyes, brighter but still sad, met hers. "Why not?" he asked.

Did he want her to share it? Or was he simply looking for the reason why she hadn't? "Because this is ours, Booth. The story of us, but not us," she tried to explain. "The story of us in another reality that physicists speculate might exist. You want me to share that story?"

A thumb brushed down her cheek before he pulled his hand away. Kneeling next to her on the floor, he picked up the papers, he'd already read and placed them carefully back in the box before putting the cover back on. "When you put it that way, Bones, I don't think I do. But I don't want to read it right now, either, if that's okay. For now, let's just keep this as our secret."

"Whatever you want, Booth." She watched as he placed the box back on top of the shelf. "Why don't I show you where I put your junk drawer," she offered when he was done. "You probably didn't think to check the laundry room."

"Are my pencils in there?"

Her heart broke just a little that he was so unsure. She missed Sweets, too, wondering how she'd get them through this crisis. But she pasted a smile on her face, and pushed those worries aside for the moment. "I wouldn't get rid of your favorite pencils."

He turned to go out the door but stopped at the sound of her voice. "And I won't get rid of you, Booth. I wish there was a way to make you believe that."

"I do believe that, Bones."

"No," she disagreed. "You don't. But that's okay. I believe that you will. Come on. I left groceries in the car. You need to carry them in."

She brushed past him and he softly closed the door behind them. "That's good, Bones," he whispered when she was too far in front of him to hear. "I'm glad one of us believes it." But he followed her toward the garage, glad for the chance to pretend, that just for a moment, everything was the way it used to be.

 _A/N: There have been several requests for a follow-up chapter to The Notebooks. I have added it to my list of ideas, so there will be one. I just can't promise what chapter it will be…_


	8. A Conversation with Cullen

A/N: This is a follow _-up to Chapter 5, The_ _Notebooks. I_ _Highly_ _recommend you read that first, otherwise this might not make a lot of sense._

 _Not a lot going on here, just a short little story. For the purposes of my story, Cullen still works somewhere in the FBI and is still Booth's boss at some level._

 _Thanks for reading._

Cullen knew what they wanted as soon as the pair walked into the office.

He shouldn't have had any idea, but something had been pestering him for the last week. An urge to pull out a box or two he hadn't seen in years. Covered in dust and debris, buried in the back of an attic he should have cleaned years ago, Cullen had transferred them to the back of his garage only last week.

But in his typical fashion, he pretended not to have any idea why the partners were there. Silence often provided as much information as words. It was technique he'd perfected over the years. And appearing in front of the boss tended to make people talk anyway.

Neither appeared nervous. That itself wasn't surprising. Dr. Brennan rarely appeared ruffled in any way. But this was the most relaxed he'd seen either of them in quite some time. And for that reason, he didn't make them wait too long.

A final note to the file he was working on and Cullen closed the folder with a slap. "It's after hours. What can I do for the two of you?"

Despite a tone others would have taken as harsh, Brennan gave him a smile and Cullen softened enough to give her a short nod in return. He'd never forget what the pair in front of him had done for his daughter. The years since her loss were both too long and too damn short.

For that alone, these two would always hold a special place in his heart.

Not that he'd ever tell them that.

Well, maybe someday, after he retired and left this place behind.

Booth would be his first choice to take over the office. Perhaps, Cullen thought, he'd leave a note on his desk like former presidents did when their replacement was elected.

The sound of a throat clearing brought Cullen away from thoughts of his retirement. "Sir," Agent Booth began, "I was wondering if you still had the boxes I asked you to keep for me?"

Cullen toyed with the thought of pretending not to know what he was asking, but pushed that aside. He'd known, all those years ago, that there were more than just notes about Brennan's scientific papers in that box. It was about time Brennan got a chance to read them.

Nodding solemnly, Cullen leaned back in his chair. "I have them, Agent Booth." He flicked his eyes to Brennan and back again. "I assume that you've finally shared their existence with someone other than me?"

"Yes," Brennan responded, despite the fact the question had clearly been directed at Booth. "He shared the story of their creation with me. Why else would we be asking for them?"

It took a lot of control to hide the smile when Booth closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The man should quit worrying so much about Brennan offending him. Cullen accepted the woman for who she was and appreciated her frank nature. "I was just checking, Dr. Brennan. The boxes are in my garage. If you'd like, I can bring them in the morning, or," he amended quickly at the quick flash of disappointment that appeared on both faces, "you can follow me to my house and pick them up right now."

But Booth shook his head. "That's not necessary, sir. One more day won't matter."

Cullen watched amused, when Booth put his hand over Brennan's when opened her mouth to respond. His amusement changed to fascination as she closed her mouth, looked to her left, and nodded.

It was clear they'd had an entire conversation with a single touch.

"I agree with Agent Booth," Brennan said. "You've worked hard today and should enjoy your evening without us interrupting."

"Nonsense," Cullen said, grabbing his coat. "Follow me home. I won't take no for an answer."

Another look, another conversation, and Booth also rose to his feet. "Thank you sir, we appreciate this."

BbBbBb

"She told me you called and apologized," Booth said. He was in the garage with Cullen, pulling out the boxes. Brennan was in the house with Cullen's wife, and Booth was thankful for the moment to talk to his boss alone. "You didn't have to do that."

Stopping, Cullen turned back. "Of course, I did. I shouldn't have asked you to do what you did, considering you were just coming out of anesthesia. And given what happened when you went under for your tumor, you were probably even more out of it than I realized at the time." Shaking his head, Cullen turned back around. "What I did was bad enough. What Dr. Sweets did was almost unforgivable."

Bending down, Cullen grabbed the first of two boxes. "You're a better man than I am," he said, handing it to Booth.

"We had a talk, Sweets and I," Booth said. Taking the box, he waited for Cullen to grab the second before turning back toward the SUV. "I expected to be fired for it," Booth admitted.

"I considered it," Cullen said. And promptly ran into the back of Booth when the man stopped in front of him.

"You knew?" Booth asked, before he started toward the vehicle again.

Cullen waited to respond until both boxes were safely in Booth's SUV. The two men leaned against the vehicle side by side, facing Cullen's house. "There is very little that goes on in my department that I am not aware of, Agent Booth. Unfortunately, what Dr. Sweets chose to do, was one of them."

Looking to the man next to him, Cullen chuckled. "Of course, it's hard to hide a conversation that took place in Sweets's office in voices that weren't exactly whispers. Next time you want to threaten a man and have Dr. Brennan help you get away with it, you probably shouldn't do it in the middle of the FBI building."

"Sorry I put you in that position, sir."

"I considered firing Sweets as well, so don't apologize. You aren't the only one who had a conversation with him. But you are a better man than I am. I probably would have followed through on the threat you made if anyone had ever toyed with my wife and I like that." Cullen paused and considered it. "Your wife would have caught me, I'm sure."

"She's a brilliant woman," Booth agreed, waving to her as she exited the house. "I'm very lucky."

As Brennan walked toward them, Cullen gave his own wave toward the woman still standing in the door. "I know the feeling, Agent Booth."

BbBbBbBb

"Go ahead and open them, Bones. I'm going to take a shower."

Surprised, she looked up at him. "You don't want to be here when I do?"

Shrugging, Booth took a drink from a beer he'd found as soon as they were home. "It's fine. Really. Go ahead."

Recognizing her husband was uncomfortable for some reason, Brennan shook her head. "Why don't you want to be here when I do?"

Sighing, Booth both loved and cursed his wife's tenacious nature. "I wrote notes all over every scientific article in there. You're quickly going to realize that I'm nowhere as smart as you. I'd rather not be here when you do."

"I wouldn't expect you to be as smart as me," Brennan said, tilting her head to the side.

Booth snorted. "Thanks, Bones."

"That's not what I meant," she said, exasperated. "I'm a trained forensic anthropologist. You aren't. I'm not looking for you to have made scientific discoveries when I read your notes."

"Then what are you expecting?"

She rose and came toward him. "What I expect to see are the notes from a brilliant investigator and how the techniques I described might impact your job. I hope to see ideas on how those techniques might impact cold cases and connections that perhaps I never considered because I wasn't looking at them the same way you did."

"Jesus, Bones," he muttered, always humbled to see himself through her eyes. "Nothing like putting even more pressure on a guy."

"No pressure," she assured him with just the hint of a smile. "You're the only one putting any pressure on yourself."

"Fine," he said. Stepping just close enough, he kissed her. "But I'm still going to take that shower."

BbBbBb

Booth expected one of several things when he came out of the shower. Either Bones would already be done going through his notes, because Booth knew, despite her reassurances, that there was nothing of importance in there.

Or she'd be crying as she read the yellow notebook that was beneath all the notes.

Neither was a scenario he was particularly looking forward to.

What he didn't expect to find was his wife sitting cross-legged on the floor with the glasses she'd finally admitted to needing perched on her nose.

For a second Booth almost asked her to take the glasses off and shake her hair out, just as he had on that case years ago.

Next to her were most of the notebooks, apparently unopened. What was opened was her laptop, perched carefully on one knee as she referenced whatever she was studying before typing something quickly.

Brennan had known he was there the minute he'd stepped into view, but hadn't looked up. "This is brilliant," she said quickly, before typing something else frantically. That complete, she finally took the glasses from her face and gave him her full attention.

"You should have shown me these years ago," she chastised. "I've already developed several theories I've never considered from your notes."

Coming forward, Booth sat in a chair near her. "You don't have to say things that aren't true just to make me feel better."

"I don't lie," she snapped. "Some of these ideas are brilliant. I will be authoring several papers based on just the little I've looked at so far. You'll be credited, of course."

"You aren't kidding," he said. It wasn't a question.

"No, I'm not kidding. You have a very inquisitive mind. I'm not sure why you hate the lab so much."

"Too sterile. No feelings," he answered quickly. With a toe, he poked at the pile next to her, looking for one notebook in particular.

"The yellow one?" she asked, without looking up from the work she'd focused on again.

"Yeah, the yellow one."

Pointing with her pencil, Booth realized it sat on the table, away from the rest. "I opened it and realized that it was separate from this. Private. Besides, there's more than enough in the margins here to make my heart skip a beat. We'll save the yellow one for a different day."

"I might not have wasted so much time trying to find the right words all the time, if it was the scientific ones that made the biggest difference," he said.

But she shook her head. "Right here," she said, indicating the words with her finger, "you wrote about how beautiful I must have looked as I studied these bones. And over here, how much you liked my eyes when they're excited over some discovery I've made. How they glitter with emotion."

"Like right now," he admitted as she looked back at him. "Your excitement shines, Bones. It's breathtaking."

"Well," she said. She was a little breathless herself at his words. "You've always loved scientific me."

"Yes," he agreed. He took the laptop from her knees and placed it carefully to the side with the other work. "I'm tempted to start undressing you right here, except for how you'd feel when we messed up your precious notes."

"We don't want to mess up my notes," she agreed, licking her lips. "Perhaps, we can further explore how much you love my scientific side in the bedroom?"

He laughed. "Bring the glasses."


	9. The Darkness

_This is the first of a multi-part continuation of Chapter 7, the Manuscript. I would suggest you go back and read that one first. The next two parts of this will be published over the following days. It should probably be its own story, but I decided to include it here, since this is where part 1 is._

 _Thank you for the reviews and the follows and the story suggestions. I appreciate all of them._

 _As usual, I don't own Bones._

Brennan awoke with a start, reaching for her husband. Her nightmare had begun to lessen since he'd been released from jailed, despite that fact that his seemed to continue unabated. So Brennan wasn't surprised when she rolled her side and found Booth's side of the bed cool to her touch.

Closing her eyes again, she fought the sudden rush of tears that flooded her eyes. There wasn't time for her to feel sorry for herself, not now that Booth was released. Besides, these tears weren't for her anyway. They were for the man who was currently missing from her side.

For the man who was struggling to find his place in the world again. To accept that he hadn't lost everything.

Even if lately, he felt like he had.

Rising from the bed, she stepped past the slippers, allowing her feet to touch the cool floor. Curling her toes, Brennan avoided the comparison between the floor and the emotions in her house. It was better to stay away from those things right now.

She found him in the stadium seats, sitting in the dark. Her eyes, because she didn't turn on a light, saw him immediately. The breath, she wasn't aware of holding, left her in a rush.

"What are you doing, Booth?" Brennan didn't ask if he was okay anymore. Because he wasn't.

"Sitting," he said softly. "I woke and couldn't figure out where I was, when I was. So I came out here to sit for a while. To think. Sorry I woke you."

"When you were?" she asked. It wasn't often she couldn't translate what he was telling her, but that one made no sense.

"Was it before the shooting, or after? Was I still in jail or was I home?" He was never quite sure, in that brief second before full awareness hit him. Was Sweets alive, or dead? Where was he? Sometime Booth wondered who he was now. But the words he needed to try and explain that to Bones wouldn't come. His shoulders moved quickly up and down again. "You know…when I was."

"This is our new home. You've been out of jail for a couple months now." She wanted to reassure him, and herself, that things were better. But they weren't.

If anything, things seemed to be getting worse.

Brennan was no longer sure she would reach him before it was too late. She only hoped that whatever happened wouldn't destroy him, destroy them so much that there would be no pieces left to pick up.

He wanted to tell her. To say the words that would let her now about the urges that were getting more difficult to fight. Booth would give in soon, he knew that. But he couldn't tell her. Not now and he hoped not ever. He'd get it under control again, long before she ever found out.

Because if he gave in, and she learned the truth, she'd surely leave him this time. He'd lost Sweets. Lost his home. He wouldn't survive the loss of his family, too.

So he kept quiet. Fearing, in the end, the secret would cost him just as much as the truth.

"I knew that, Bones. As soon as I came out here. Sometimes, it's just hard to figure out where I am when I open my eyes. The dreams bleed into reality, the old with the new. It's hard to separate."

"Like the story, when you woke up from the coma."

"Exactly," he agreed. He thought of the box containing that story, still in her office. Was there a point when he would be strong enough again to actually want to read it? To enjoy it for the story it was?

He doubted it.

Coming forward finally, she joined him in the seats, shifting slightly to make herself more comfortable. When she was done moving, her shoulder rested against him.

Leaning into the casual touch, Booth tried to relax. It had been a long time since he enjoyed the feeling of someone right next to him. It reminded him too much of prison. A place with no privacy and a single touch often meant pain. Or even death.

Even now, Bones and Christine were the only people he could allow next to him without flinching.

"Sweets and I laughed a lot when we moved these seats," Brennan said. "I have to say, it was a little easier this time."

He stiffened. "I don't want to talk about Sweets or the fact that you had to move all of our things, Bones."

But she refused to let it go. She knew Sweets would tell her that Booth needed to talk. Keeping it all inside was a mistake. But she didn't know how to push without driving him further away. Where was the line? "I would like to tell you about some of it," she said. "I'd like to remember Sweets."

He exploded from the seat so suddenly, Brennan had to grab at the chairs to keep from falling out of them. "I don't want to talk about Sweets," he said coldly. He'd kept his voice low enough not to wake Christine, but his anger was a living thing, snaking its way around the room. And them.

But Brennan had never been afraid of him. And she'd tried to let Booth start to heal on his own. But she feared it was time to push at the line she was afraid to cross.

"I do," she said again. "I don't agree with everything he said, or everything he did, but I miss him. Daisy is pregnant with his child. A child that will be named for you. I think we should talk about that."

The pacing began, something Brennan had seen him do a lot recently. Psychology wasn't something she bought into, but it seemed to her that the pacing was as close to running away as Booth could get. Bones only wished she knew exactly what he ran from. Maybe then she could help him.

"Daisy shouldn't be naming anyone after me," he argued, his voice no longer cold, but hot with anger. "Nothing like cursing the child with the burden of my name. Nothing to be proud of there."

"Plenty to be proud of," Brennan tried to remind him. She shook her head, knowing he probably wouldn't see it while he paced in the dark. "People tell you all the time you're a good man, Booth, but you don't really believe it. Do you? Sweets and I talked about the good you'd done. The good you would do when you got out of jail. Talking about you broke my heart. And kept me going."

"If you knew half of what I'd done, half of what I thought of doing…" his hand made a scratching sound as it rubbed over his cheeks. He didn't want to know about their time apart. To know she was forced to rebuild their life, their family, without him.

To have his failings placed right there in front of him where there was no place to hide.

And they had been right there, the words to let her know just how badly he was struggling.

But, still, they simply wouldn't come.

"I know what you've done, Booth. I know what you fear and what you fight. I fight those battles with you."

Except, he wasn't letting her help with this one. Wasn't letting anyone help.

The signs were there. She saw them clearly, despite his attempts to hide them. But she knew, until he asked for help, accepted he needed it, there was no way she could save him.

He would gamble again. It wasn't a matter of if, but when. Would she know when he started? How long would she let it go, before she would have to force him to make a choice?

How long before Booth was strong enough to choose her and Christine over all the other temptations?

There was no doubt in her mind that he would choose them. Eventually. But how long would they wait for him to find his center again?

Because she would. Wait. Even if it took forever.

"Your life was quiet before you met me."

"My life was quiet and boring and lonely," Brennan said sharply. "I saw nothing but the inside of the lab and my apartment. I had no friends to speak of. Except Angela," she added, her voice turning reflective. "But I still don't know what she saw in me."

"She saw you," Booth said, relieved to be able to turn the conversation toward her.

But Brennan had learned a lot since she'd first stepped outside of her comfort zone and she refused to let him have the easy out. "And I see you, Booth. I know you are struggling. That you blame yourself for death of Sweets and the loss of our home. But none of it was your fault."

Watching him from her seat, Brennan finally rose and stood in his path to prevent the pacing. He stopped as soon as he turned, and even in the dark, she could see his dilemma.

Step into what she could give him.

Or continue to stay just far enough out of her reach that she couldn't help him.

And sadly, Bones knew he wouldn't take the step toward her.

"I'm okay," he said, his hand running through hair already a mess from his restless sleep. He didn't tell her he knew it wasn't his fault, because he was pretty sure it was.

Bones accepted his answer, recognizing it for the lie it was. It wasn't going to take much, a push from the wrong person, a temptation that was too strong, and he was going to fall over the edge.

But he was too proud to ask for help. Or still too much in denial to accept that he needed it.

"Come to bed, Booth," she said softly, but there was steel in her tone. Booth took a step toward her before evening acknowledging he was going to do so. "The night is growing short and you need to sleep."

"I won't sleep. Not again tonight."

"Perhaps," she agreed, not moving until he came close enough that she could take his hand. "But the rest will be good for you. And I can't sleep without you next to me."

He sighed, but let her lead him back toward the bedroom. "Anything for you, Bones."

"I know that, Booth," she reassured him softly. In fact, she was counting on it.


	10. The Unexpected Homecoming

She sat, staring at the closed door. The one he'd just walked out after she told him to leave. Brennan toyed with calling someone, anyone, to come sit with her.

But the phone calls would require explanations and answers she didn't have. Answers she certainly wouldn't find starting at the back of a closed door.

She stared anyway.

His vehicle hadn't left the driveway, she'd been watching for the sweep of lights through the windows at they hadn't come.

Was he waiting for her to change her mind? Was he contemplating everything that was at stake?

Did he even have a place to go for the night?

It wasn't fair that she should feel guilty. He'd risked their lives to make bets that had amounted to nothing more than losses. He should be the one who felt guilty, not her.

And it wasn't just money he'd lost this time. He was in danger of losing everything that he held dear. Was throwing him out going to be enough to remind him of everything that was at stake?

And he wouldn't be the one explaining to their daughter why her father was gone. Again. He wouldn't have to come up with words for questions that had no answers.

It was left up to her.

And she was frustrated with herself that she felt angry about it. Because it hadn't always been her husband's fault.

"Damn you, Booth," she muttered, swiping angrily at tears. Knowing that addiction was a beast never truly tamed. Sure, you could cage it for awhile, but it was always there, stalking, waiting for an opening, a weakness in the cage that held it.

Booth's cage had been full of weaknesses lately. The prison time, the loss of Sweets, the case involving gambling, any one of those was enough to break a few bars. Combined together, Brennan would be amazed if there was any of the cage left Booth had built so carefully over the years.

A closed door between them that might as well have been made of concrete. That's how it felt to her, so heavy from the emotions that filled the room, the house.

She'd known, or at least suspected that this was going to happen. It hadn't stopped her from hoping that it wouldn't. But the evidence was there, and she'd done her best not to see it. She'd consciously made the decision not to think about why he wasn't carrying his chip, something he never went without. Why he suddenly gifted her with a necklace, something so unlike him she hadn't dared look any closer. Sure, he'd given her random gifts before, but nothing that felt so extravagant. At least, when it wasn't around some holiday he believed so strongly in.

So Brennan had waited. For the signs to disappear. For the other shoe to fall. She'd so desperately wanted to be wrong.

Why did she always have to be right?

Knowing she didn't want to be alone, despite the fact she wasn't sure she could even talk yet, Brennan picked up the phone.

 **bbbbbbbbbbbb**

"What's going on Bren?" Angela asked before she was fully through the door. "I thought Booth was back. What happened?"

Angela had known something was going on with her best friend. Something that Brennan hadn't been ready to share with her. So she'd bided her time, watching and waiting. She'd seen clues, but hadn't been able to put them together to come up with a complete picture.

But the late night phone call still came as a surprise. Promising to let Hodgins know what was going on, Angela had broken several rules of the road to get to the house in a hurry.

"I threw him out," Brennan said, sighing heavily as she closed the door behind her friend. But not before she glanced out toward the driveway. "He isn't still out there?"

Angela tossed her purse to the floor and slowly took off her coat, trying to form her thoughts. "You threw Booth out?" she said, urging her brain to catch up. "As in, he's not welcome to live here right now, threw out? And no, there wasn't anyone out there." Except for the SUV she'd barely taken notice of parked across from the driveway. Had that been Booth?

"Yes, Angela," Brennan said. Taking her coat, Brennan hung it in the closet, grateful for something to do. In the time since she'd called Angela, Brennan had found it hard to sit still. The kitchen counters had already been cleaned. Twice.

She hadn't heard Booth go, but hadn't really been listening either. Where would he go? There was no couch in his office, he couldn't sleep there. He was too proud to ask for help. Would he sleep in his car?

"Why, Sweetie?" Angela asked, forcing Brennan to add her new concerns to the ever growing list she was keeping in her head. "You wouldn't do that without a good reason. What happened?"

"He's been gambling," Brennan answered, alarmed to realize she was crying again. She looked down to see a tissue in her hand, not remembering where it had come from. She used it to quickly swipe at her face. "His bookie threatened Christine and I. Don't worry about that," she added at Angela's alarmed look, "Aubrey took care of it. So when he came home with his bag tonight, I confronted him and threw him out."

"Come sit down," Angela ordered, taking her by the hands and guiding her toward the couch. "You've had quite a shock. Are you and the baby feeling okay?"

Brennan gave a watery laugh, but allowed herself to be led to the couch. "Physically, we're fine. No contractions or anything like that. As for the rest…," she waved her hand in the air, "it's all jumbled up."

"Of course, it is," Angela reassured her. "Anyone's emotions would be messed up right now. It's okay to be confused."

The snort surprised Angela. "I'm not confused," Brennan said confidently, despite the tissue and her watery eyes. "In this matter, I'm quite clear. Booth gambled and in doing so risked our lives. Until he gets that under control, he cannot be under this roof."

"I'm not going to argue about it with you, Brennan. I don't think you made the wrong choice."

A sigh filled the silence. "Do you think you could just sit with me for awhile?" Brennan asked. "I don't really want to talk about this anymore. I just want to sit."

"I'll get us some water," Angela said, before hurrying to the kitchen. Before grabbing several bottles from the fridge, she took the time to text her husband. It looked liked it was going to be a long night.

 **bbbbbbbbbbbbbb**

He threw his bag into the back of the SUV before slamming it closed and climbing into the driver's seat. Every move was sharp, completed with as much force as he could expend. Car door, slammed so hard a dog up the street starting barking. Keys, shoved so hard into the ignition he was surprised they didn't snap.

"A mistake," he muttered under his breath, twisting the keys to start the vehicle. He was cold, but wasn't sure the car heat would be enough to drive away the chill that had settled into his bones.

"Damn it, Bones, it was just a mistake. I have it under control. I can stop anytime I want to." The car flew from the driveway into the street. With a little more control, he backed up and parked where he could see his own driveway from the position.

The irrational angry part of himself, in a voice that drowned out everything else, was sure she'd take off with Christine again. Take his daughter away from him where he'd never find them. Max would help her this time, too.

A small voice he could barely hear reminded him that she wouldn't give up that easily. That she'd stay and fight as long as he fought, too.

It was the same voice that had been trying to stop his descent into gambling for weeks. The one that had practically begged him to ask her for help.

That voice had steadily gotten quieter over those weeks. Tonight, it had apparently decided it was time to start fighting back as well.

But Booth wasn't ready for that voice, not yet. Wasn't ready to accept that this was more than a simple mistake.

He'd put Bones at risk. Put his children at risk. That thought, more than the idea that she'd thrown him out, that he couldn't even see his daughter, caused his heart to race more than any of the others.

His family had been at risk. Because of the decisions he'd made, the pride he'd refused to get past.

All he'd had to do was ask. To admit what he was facing, what he was fighting.

Instead, he'd chosen to go alone.

And lost everything.

Booth waited until Angela's vehicle drove past him and pulled into the driveway. Bones needed someone to help her, and she hadn't been able to turn to him.

That hurt, too. It seemed the fates wouldn't quit piling it on this evening until he was buried.

Pops had told him once that when you found yourself in a hole, especially one you had dug yourself, the first thing you had to do was stop digging.

His gambling was the shovel. In order to stop digging, he was going to have to put it down.

Sighing, Booth rubbed a rough hand over his face. He hadn't slept in what felt like a week. It was long after the time when most people were in bed.

Despite the hour, he picked up his phone and pulled up his list of contacts. A deep breath, and he pressed down on it. Hard. In the silence of the vehicle, he could hear it start to ring.

The voice at the other end was groggy, but clear. The man had obviously recognized the number and knew why Booth would call at this hour.

"Seeley? What can I do for you?"

Looking up the driveway, Booth could see the flicker of lights on the trees. She would wait for him. It was up to him to take the steps to go home again. "We need to talk," Booth said softly. "I need some help."


	11. The Apartment

The apartment was cold. And it wasn't just the temperature, she realized, rubbing her sleeved arms briskly.

The walls and the surfaces were bare, a thin coating of dust on the surface.

It was only four rooms, the kind you'd expect a single man to occupy. But Booth wasn't single. He was married. He belonged at a different house. With her.

Except she couldn't let him come home. Not yet. For now, this was the way it had to be. For both of them.

Glancing around, Brennan noted the small kitchen that opened into the living room. A bathroom, whose open door displayed an interior lacking imagination or color other than brown. And a bedroom, the door currently closed.

I should have met him at the office, she thought. I don't belong here.

But Booth opened the door and rounded the corner before she backed away. And she was forced to face the man who'd pushed her into doing this.

"Sorry about that, Bones," Booth said. His voice was bright, welcoming. Even Brennan recognized the joviality was forced.

"It's fine," she said. But she wrapped her arms tighter around her.

He'd retreated to the bedroom to dress immediately after her arrival. Even that was uncomfortable between them now. She'd seen him naked more times than she could count, but he'd refused to speak to her wearing sweats. He'd insisted on dressing.

It was an armor, she knew, hating that she could use psychology so easily to understand that, but not in how to push him to take the steps he needed to take.

Their life together was being reduced to awkward conversations and half formed confessions.

It will get better, she thought. But even she was no longer sure if it was a promise.

Or a wish.

"We need to talk about your visitations with Christine," Brennan said. It was so easy to fall back into the bluntness that had protected her for so many years.

She armored herself with facts and statistics to protect her heart as it slowly broke.

His steps toward her faltered, as if he hadn't considered just how serious this situation was. But visitation led to words like separation and divorce, all places he couldn't think about just then.

Except they were already there. Separated. Not just feet apart, but miles.

In the darkness of every night that he went to bed alone, it was all he could think about. That and what had brought him to this place.

He wanted to blame her. Had blamed her for the first couple of days. Until he started going to meetings again and realized that there was only one person that was at fault.

It was all that person could do to get through a day and not pick up the phone to make another bet.

Booth continued to struggle. To fight the desire and the guilt that was swallowing him. He wasn't sure if he was actually moving or just treading water. Or had he already drowned, but his brain hadn't caught up yet?

And from the way she was looking at him, she knew it. Knew everything he was feeling and struggling with. If he fell to his knees and confessed it all, would she let him come home?

But how could he confess to her what he hadn't admitted to himself?

"This is only temporary, Bones," he reassured her, pushing it all away. Another stroke in the pool that did nothing but keep him where he was. "I don't think we need to set up anything formal."

"Of course, we do," she argued. "Christine needs a routine. She needs to feel safe right now since her life has been disrupted again. A schedule lets her know when you are coming, so she isn't always wondering when she'll see you again."

"So that's how it's going to be?" he asked. Hands were shoved into pockets to keep them from shaking. "Did you discuss this with Rebecca to find out how she kept me from Parker? Is there some sort of playbook you're both using?"

"There is no playbook, Booth, other than the desire to protect our daughter. To make sure she knows that she is safe and loved, by both of us." Without thinking, she rubbed at her swollen abdomen, including their future child in the conversation as well. She would give them the safety Brennan hadn't had when her parents walked out. Christine and her future sibling would know, without a single doubt, that both parents cherished and loved them.

Pulling a hand out to run through his hair, he studied his wife. "What do I have to do to prove that I just made a mistake? So you'll invite me back home?"

Brennan wondered that herself, at times. How or what would he have to do to rebuild the trust he'd broken?

"I'm not sure," she said, refusing to lie. It was lies that had driven them into this situation in the first place.

He stilled, as if the vague answer was somehow worse than the truth would have been. And perhaps it was, considering it came from a woman who was never less than sure.

"I think," Brennan said, dropping her hands to rest them on the back of a kitchen chair, "you need to take this more seriously than you currently are."

"You think I'm not serious about this?" Booth demanded? "You kicked me out of the house. You're here to make arrangements to see my daughter. Mine," he emphasized.

"Ours," she reminded him. She refused to raise her voice, to turn this into an argument. It wasn't. This arrangement was the way it was going to be for the foreseeable future.

"You have all the cards right now, Bones."

"I have no cards, real or otherwise," she said. "What I have is clarity, something you are lacking."

"It was just a mistake," he repeated. He could come up with no other argument.

"It was more than a mistake. Someone came to our house and threatened the little girl you keep reminding me is yours, too. How do you look at that and think what you did, what you continued to do, was a simple mistake?"

She swiped angrily at her eyes, refusing to cry. The time for tears was over. It now required something more than strength; it was the imperviousness she'd left behind that night of the blizzard.

This would be so much easier if she was still the woman who couldn't be hurt because she felt nothing at all.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked.

"If you have to ask me that, Booth, if you don't know what you have to do to fix this, you aren't ready to take the steps required. When you accept what happened and why, you'll know what you need to do."

He nodded, accepting the truth in her words. There was no forgiveness in her eyes. Just a quiet acceptance of what happened and where they were.

And love. There was still love there. But it was hidden behind the anger. And the worry. She was struggling to make sense of something she'd never felt before and the one person who usually helped her was the one she couldn't ask.

He felt guilty for that. He'd made so many mistakes. But couldn't she see that he was better now? He was going to meetings. Shouldn't that be enough? "Will you ever take me back?" he asked softly.

"Ever, and never are absolutes. There are no absolutes in nature. But right now…?" she shrugged. "Right now I won't. When and if I take you back depends on you."

He glanced away from her eyes, to see her hands tightly twisted around the back of the chair, knuckles white from the force. She couldn't barely reach around the baby she carried. "Are you feeling okay, Bones?" he asked. "I…," he rubbed a hand along his cheek and shuffled his feet. "I'm worried about you," he finished softly. He was worried about them, too.

To have her so close and not have the right to touch her. Even in the early days, when they were nothing more than partners, she welcomed, or at least never pulled away from, the hand on her back. Or the touch of his hand on hers.

Booth doubted she would even let him close enough to reach for her at that moment. "This sucks, Bones," he muttered, before waving his hand in the air. "Never mind."

She nodded. "To use your vernacular, yes, it does," she agreed. "And to answer your previous question, the baby's fine, Booth. As for me, I'm managing okay." Except for when Christine woke up in the middle of the night crying for her father. Or when Brennan craved ice cream and there wasn't any in the house.

She was tempted to ask Max to move in temporarily, but wasn't sure she could handle the sympathetic glances and offers to hurt her husband.

Not when there were times she had the urge to just slap him herself.

"I wish you'd come to me," she said, the emotion echoing off the empty walls. It was just a flash, of the anger that simmered just below the surface. But Booth felt it as clearly as if she'd yelled the question. "Why didn't you come to me when you were struggling? I would have helped you."

It was what bothered her the most. The man she'd told her secrets to chose not to trust her enough to share his.

"And see the look in your eyes that I see now?" he asked. "To see the disappointment and the anger?" To feel it as it brushed past his skin.

"What you see is fear and worry and love," she answered. And she hadn't hesitated to do so. Her surety gave him pause. "All the things that have always been there. The same things you would have seen if you had simply opened up to me. Now…,"

"It's too late," Booth finished for her, not making it a question. It was too late to stop him from gambling. But was it too late to save him from spiraling further down? To save them so there was still something left to salvage?

"For some things," she agreed. "But not for others."

"I want to see my daughter," he said, ignoring the questions on why he hadn't trusted her. But he wondered if he was solving anything by doing so. Wasn't that doing the same thing she'd accused him of only moments before?

"She would like that," Brennan said softly, careful to hide her disappointment at his lack of an answer. "And it's important for both of you." Booth needed the reminder of what he was fighting for. If she wasn't enough, Christine would tip the scales in their favor.

"I do trust you, Bones. I did then, too." He shrugged, looking away from the surprise on her face when he returned to the earlier question. "Sometimes," he admitted, "the things we are afraid to see in others are the things we don't want to see in ourselves."

It was the most honest he'd been with her in months. And it brought back the flicker of hope that had been so close to being extinguished. "I've never been disappointed in you, Booth."

He eyes flew back to hers. "Even now?"

"Yes, even now," she said evenly, not explaining further. "I thought that you could come over several evenings each week and have dinner with us. Perhaps one or two nights a week stay long enough to put Christine to bed."

"I'd like that," he said. It was a first step, he thought, accepting the conditions she set for him. "I don't want her coming to stay here," he said, suddenly embarrassed for how he was living. "I don't want her to see this."

Brennan's eyes flicked around the room, to the single chair in the living room and the empty walls, before coming back to his again. "If that's what you wish, Booth. You are welcome to see her at the house."

"We'll have to work around my meetings," he said. "I can give you a schedule."

"Thank you," she said. They stood in awkward silence, until Brennan finally motioned toward the door. "I have to get to the Lab. I'll see if there's a case today. Otherwise, perhaps we can meet for lunch and discuss the schedule?"

He nodded, clenching his hands into fists inside the pockets of his jeans. He wanted to reach for her and wasn't sure he'd be able to stop himself.

"I love you, Bones," he called after her, just as she was about to close the door behind her.

And tried to tell himself she simply hadn't heard him when the door closed without a response. Until she reopened the door and smiled at him gently. Even without the words, he could read her eyes. "I love you, too, Booth," she said, before closing the door once again.

The door remained closed this time, and Booth let out a shaky breath.

Bones wasn't disappointed in him. But Booth certainly felt that way about himself.

He'd brought very little to the apartment, hoping he wouldn't be there long. The fact that he was still there was a reflection on how hard he was working to come home, Booth realized. And up until now, he hadn't been putting in the work.

It was time for that to change.

On the side of the bed he didn't use was a box. He didn't have the right to spend the night with his wife, not currently, but he refused to sleep without her at his side.

Right then, all the could use to represent her was a box of photographs. It was a pathetic substitution for the real thing.

Staring at it, he finally sat at the edge of the bed and opened it, looking for one thing in particular. There weren't just pictures of Bones in there, but Christine and some from the Lab.

Beneath the rest was the one he was looking for.

Christine was sitting on the swings at the park. With Sweets directly behind her.

There was joy on his face, his daughter's as well.

By pushing away the memory of his death, Booth had also forgotten the rest. How Sweets helped Bones put their house back together.

What a great uncle he'd been to Christine.

And the friend he'd been to Booth. Despite the mistakes, the times Sweets had pushed when it wasn't welcome, he'd been a friend.

"Why'd you have to be so damn stubborn?" he demanded, shaking the picture as he'd like to shake the man. "You weren't trained to go into the field," he said. And then chuckled. "But then again, neither was Bones. It seems I surrounded myself with people who never did what they were told."

It was why the team had been so successful. Why it still was. A group of people who knew when to push, and when to step back. It had been allowed, encouraged, and treasured.

"I can hear you, you know. When I take the time to shut my eyes and listen. Your voice telling me how this wasn't my fault. That there are lots of things that are, but your death isn't one of them. That my need to be in control, is actually making everything even more out of control."

He took a final look before putting the photo back in the box and closing the lid. "I know you're right, I just didn't want to hear it."

"But it's time," he said, thinking about his wife, his children, and the desire to gamble that suddenly wasn't as strong as it had been, "that maybe I start listening. And talking to the people who can help me."

He closed the door to the bedroom and took a look around the depressing apartment. "Maybe then," he said, his voice echoing off the empty surfaces, "I can finally start helping myself."


	12. The Visit

_A/N: This wasn't supposed_ _to be a story, but somehow it's turned into one. I've decided to leave it here, despite the fact it could be its own story._

 _Thanks for reading and for the reviews. I'm glad everyone has enjoyed it._

He waited until long after Christine would be asleep before he knocked on the door. Booth knew Bones was still awake; the lights in the house were still on. He knew he wouldn't wake her.

Seeing his daughter was always high on his list of priorities, but tonight he wanted to see his wife. And not in the diner or at the Lab. He wanted a chance to talk to her quietly. Privately. It was time to take a few more steps toward rebuilding his life.

If she was surprised to see him when she opened the door, she didn't show it. Instead, she motioned him forward before closing the door gently behind him. "Christine fell asleep a long time ago, Booth. And you didn't discuss coming to see her tonight," Brennan pointed out.

Taking off his coat, Booth nodded. "I know that, Bones. I'm not here to see her, as much as I'd like to," he clarified quickly, not wanting Bones to think he no longer wanted to be part of his daughter's life. "I'm here to see you. If that's okay?" he asked quickly.

She was quick to answer. "Of course, that's fine. Are you here to discuss different arrangements regarding Christine?" Brennan asked, unsure of what Booth was referring to. Why else would he come to see her.

But her husband chuckled, and she tilted her head as she watched him. "I love you, Bones, and I wanted to talk to you. Need to talk to you. I feel I owe you an apology for today. For lots of days before today. But we'll start with today."

She agreed with him, but let it go without saying so. "You should have informed me of your thirty day celebration. Even after everything, you still choose not to share things with me."

"Not because I didn't want you there," he tried to explain.

"Then why?" she demanded. It had hurt, that he hadn't asked her to come. "We are married, a family. And I love you, too. Why do you still continue not to share things with me?"

Brennan watched as he fiddled with something in his pocket, pulled it out and put it back again. It was his chip. The knowledge that he carried it again had her grabbing the back of a chair to keep her from collapsing in relief.

It was the flash of the normalcy that had been missing from their lives lately. So she grabbed on to that piece of normal with everything that she had.

Brennan hadn't heard Booth come forward, but she came out of her thoughts to find him behind her, one hand in the small of her back. "Are you okay, Bones?" he asked.

Her sudden grab on the back of the chair had scared him. Sure she was going to collapse, he'd been ready to catch her if she fell.

"Fine," she reassured him quickly, briefly relaxing into the touch before pulling away. "Could you just answer the earlier question?" she asked, going to the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water for both of them.

"I didn't think you'd want to associate with anything that had to do with my gambling, good or bad," he said, watching her closely. Unsure of what had made her grab for the chair, he relaxed a little when she chose to take a seat, rather than continue to stand. "And I knew you were right in the middle of the case. I honestly had no other intentions than doing what I thought was best for you at the time. No secrets, or a desire to keep it that way."

"Isn't that what got us here in the first place?" she asked. "Your refusal to share anything with me? Either good or bad?"

"Yes," he agreed easily. "It is part of what got us here."

"What else?" she asked. Genuinely curious as to the reasons he would give, she waited patiently while he came forward to take a seat next to her and open the bottle of water.

"My refusal to talk about Sweets's death. My obsessive need for control. My belief that I could handle a case about gambling when I was already struggling." He paused and took a drink. "And my refusal to lean on the one person who would have helped me without judgement." Toying with the bottle, he started to peel the label free. "You broke your own heart to save me, to save us. Don't think I don't know that, Bones," he said softly.

She looked down at her hands, to blink away the sudden rush of tears. "Booth," she began to say, only to be interrupted.

"Don't try to deny it, Bones. Or give me some lecture about how your heart can't be broken. Not that I don't love your lectures," he said with a chuckle. "I broke…well, I broke a lot of things. Your heart is only one of them."

Was there anything worse than knowing you were the reason the woman you loved was crying? Booth wondered. To know that she had cried a whole lot of nights because of the decisions you'd made?

"You don't have to hide your tears from me, Bones," he said. His voice was as gentle as the touch that turned her face toward his. "I deserve whatever you want to give me."

"I don't know how to trust you," she admitted. All she had to give was the truth. And she had to hope it wouldn't drive him back away from them again. She looked hard into his eyes, wishing she knew exactly what she hoped to find.

Booth pulled his hand away. "You shouldn't," he said. Breaking the eye contact, he reached down, to peel more of the label away. "I haven't given you enough reason to. I've spent weeks telling you what I've done was just a mistake. Like I'd lost my car keys or something."

Shoving the bottle away, he rose and began to pace. But he never went very far from her side before turning toward her again. "God," he muttered rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I like the challenge of it, you know?" he asked.

"Of gambling?" she asked. Turning to the side, she was watched him pace. She'd seen him do this before, but now it seemed borne of a need for movement, rather than a desire to escape whatever chased him.

"Yes, of gambling. I like the challenge of trying to beat the house, the other players. Of being the best at something."

"But you're the best at so many things already, Booth. A great father, a successful agent." Pausing she considered her next words, but Booth jumped in before she had a chance to continue.

"But not the best husband?" he asked. His eyes were sad, but accepting. "You aren't wrong. I haven't been a good husband for quite some time now."

"You didn't let me finish," she said. Carefully, she slid from the chair to her feet, hating that he stood while she sat. "You aren't the perfect husband," she said. "But I'm not the perfect wife. What you were, what you still are, is perfect for me."

Rubbing a hand on her belly, she watched the man she loved. The only man she would ever love. "That is why I _crush_ my own heart every single day. Because it reminds you of what you're fighting for. A little pain is okay," she said, deciding she didn't want to stand after all. It made her feet hurt. "Because I'm hoping what comes after will be worth it."

"Are you sure you're okay, Bones?" he asked. He took a step toward her as she settled herself in the chair again. "And it's more than a little pain I've given you." He closed his eyes and rocked back on his heels. "I can't even begin to think about what this has done to Christine."

She waved the first question away. "I'm carrying your child. My feet hurt. It's nothing more than that. Women have carried babies and worked for-"

He held up a hand. "You aren't giving me that lecture again. And this time, our child will be born in a hospital."

A tilted head and a small smile was her only response. She'd given birth to their first child in a barn. Brennan harbored no concerns on her ability to successfully give birth to their second no matter what location they found themselves in.

"As for the second, yes, there's been a lot of pain, Booth. A lot of sleepless nights and endless worrying. Concern that you would never see what you'd done as a more than a simple mistake." She shrugged, as if what she'd mentioned had been nothing. "This, tonight," she sighed and let her shoulders relax, "has helped ease some of that worry."

"I'm not done," he said quickly, not wanting her to think he was ready to quit. "I know there is more to do, especially when it comes to us. To me coming home again."

Brennan was glad he hadn't asked. "I'm glad to hear that, Booth." She thought that it wasn't almost time, he was almost ready. But something continued to hold her back from letting that happen. Booth would tell her she was following her gut. Brennan just trusted she was doing the right thing for both of them.

She tried to hide a yawn, but Booth saw it immediately. "I'll get going, Bones. You and the little one need to get some sleep."

"Let me walk you to the door," she offered, sliding to her feet again. She grimaced slightly as her feet touched the bare floor. "I think I need to get some slippers."

Booth made a note to get her a pair. "You don't have to, Bones. I don't like the idea of you being on your feet anymore than necessary. Even if you can handle it," he added.

As he reached for the door, he noted that Bones hadn't stayed out of his reach, as she usually did when he came to visit Christine. He took it as another sign of progress between them. "Thank you for letting me come in tonight, Bones. And for letting me talk to you."

"Maybe," she said, going with her gut again. He'd be so proud of her. As proud as she was of the work he was doing. Of the steps he finally began to take. "You could come again late the day after tomorrow. Since it isn't a day you are scheduled to see Christine." She shifted nervously from one foot to another. "You could visit with me?" she finally finished.

Fighting back the sudden surge of joy that raced through him, Booth managed to contain his excitement to a smile. "That sounds really great, Bones. I'll come late like I did tonight. And I'll bring you some slippers."

Brennan looked down, then smiled when she realized she couldn't actually see her feet. "I'd appreciate it." She looked back up at him. "Good night, Booth. I'll see you tomorrow."

Taking a chance, he leaned forward to brush a kiss along her cheek. "Love you, Bones."

He stood with his hand flat on the door for several moments after she closed it behind him. "Soon," he promised her, and himself, before he started toward his vehicle. "I'll be home soon."


	13. Home

_"_ _I think you should spend the night with me."_

He snapped awake, but for a change Booth didn't wonder when he was, or even where he was. Even the words, whispered into the darkness that had been his sleep, hadn't caused a moment of panic. Booth knew they weren't a dream, or the wish of a broken heart.

They were real. She'd said them.

He was finally home.

He could feel the heat from her skin, and the child she carried, radiating from her side of the bed. Cold was something he'd unfortunately grown used to, and he fought the urge to turn toward the heat and comfort she would provide. Her sleep was more important than his needs.

She would always come first. Booth was glad Bones was back where she belonged on his list of priorities.

Gambling was still there, always would be, but it was beneath, below the rest. Where it belonged.

Where, God willing, it would stay.

Bones was there, next to him. Christine was down the hall. He knew that as well. But it was just a little harder to convince his heart when his eyes couldn't see.

So, he rolled carefully and shoved his feet into the well-worn slippers waiting on his side of the bed. The pain took his breath away, and he was forced to sit for a second, as the bones readjusted so he could stand.

Despite everything he'd been through, Booth still managed to leave the room quietly enough that Bones did not wake. He knew he couldn't do what he'd done in his twenties, things like sneak behind enemy lines in absolute silence. But he was pleased to note he could still leave a room without making a sound.

The same skills got him into Christine's room without waking her, either. With gentle fingers and sure hands, he pulled the covers up around her, knowing they wouldn't stay there long. His daughter was a restless sleeper, something she came by naturally.

Knowing she was warm and safe, and he was finally in a place to make sure that continued to be the situation, Booth backed out of the room and leaned against the door frame.

The air was cool on his arms, but Booth ignored the discomfort. A chance to watch his daughter sleep, feeling a peace he wasn't sure he'd ever feel again, wasn't something a little chilly air would drive him away from.

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

Like a night many months ago, Brennan woke to find Booth missing from their bed. But the darkness no longer hid a sense of foreboding, and she waited several minutes before forcing herself from the warmth that cocooned her.

Her feet made soft sounds on the hardwood as she walked silently through the house. She'd ignored the slippers Booth had made sure were there. It was too hard to put them on when she couldn't see her feet well. Besides, it was hard enough to be silent with the extra weight she currently carried. The slapping of rubber soles would have only made her louder.

Soon, she thought, rubbing a hand on her belly. Soon they would be a bigger family, and she found herself anxiously awaiting the day.

But it was no longer with a sense of fear. Now, it was simply excitement. And relief. She wouldn't be bringing this child home alone. His father would be waiting for him as well.

Because it was a boy, this time. She was sure of it. A little man with Booth's wonder of the world and his beautiful brown eyes.

She couldn't think of anything more perfect.

Brennan found her husband standing in the doorway of their daughter's room. He leaned casually against the frame, watching Christine sleep.

She didn't ask him if he was okay, simply trusted that if he wasn't, he would tell her.

As if he knew her thoughts, he looked down and gave her a smile. Taking a final look at his daughter, he took his wife's hand and led her back toward the kitchen.

"Snack?" he asked, opening the refrigerator.

"Something small," she agreed. "Our little one seems to be hungry tonight."

Chuckling, Booth grabbed a few things he knew she'd enjoy, despite the late hour. "Is it the baby that enjoys them, or you?" he asked.

"Probably me," she admitted, taking a small bite. "Why are you awake?"

She wouldn't come right out and ask, but he didn't want her to worry. "No urges to gamble right now, Bones. Just an urge to see my daughter again." He paused to take his own bite from the plate. "I missed her, and you. But when I woke, you were right next to me. For her," he shook his head and shrugged. "I knew she was there, but I needed to be sure."

Nodding that she understood, the pair sat in comfortable silence. She'd missed this, the time together where no words were needed. Knowing that her family was safe and where they belonged. "How did your meeting go?" she asked.

"Gavin and I talked for a while after," Booth said. "About my need for control. And how I need to realize that I can't control everything. And that some things really aren't my fault."

"Like Sweets's death?" Brennan asked.

Booth grimaced before finally giving a short nod. "It could have been any person I sent that warrant with. Even me." He met her eyes. "I think that's been one of the hardest things to accept." He played with several things on the plate before pushing it toward her. "That and the idea that I put you and Christine in danger. It makes me sick to think about it. Probably always will."

To tell him that it was okay was a lie. One that she refused to give voice to. It hadn't been okay, it would never be okay.

But that didn't mean she didn't forgive him for it. So she told him so.

"I don't want to lose you, Bones. And I fear that one mistake from this point on is all it will take to force you to walk away from me. To take our children from me."

But she shook her head. "You can't live that way, Booth. And I don't want you to. We made it through this. We can make it through other things, as well." She shifted her eyes away from him and back again. "I won't say this hasn't been difficult, but life often is."

His warm hand covered hers. "I don't know how to make up for what I did."

"You're already doing it. You're going to meetings. You're being honest and open with me. You realize what gambling will cost you. That is plenty of evidence. And you know how much I like that sort of thing."

Leaning forward, Booth bumped his forehead against hers. "We should go back to bed, Bones."

She was going to remind him that pregnant women often worked until the day they delivered, but decided against it. Despite the fact that it often drove her crazy, she'd missed his worrying over her in the time he'd been gone.

Still, she wasn't ready to go back to bed just yet. "I'd like to sit up for a little while longer," she said.

Booth wanted to argue, but at the same time, didn't want to push. It was there, the fear that he'd cross some line and drive her away again. Knowing there was really only one thing he could do that would make her take so drastic an action. Still, he nodded, despite his concern. "If you're done eating, I can clean this up," he offered.

The movement of the muscles beneath his skin as he washed up the plate brought a small smile to her lips. Only a short time ago, he'd refused to appear without clothes in her presence. The fact that he was comfortable in just pants helped her relax just a little bit more.

"My father didn't offer to kill you for a change," Brennan said to his back. "I was rather surprised."

His shoulders tightened perceptibly before relaxing again. "That is a surprise," Booth agreed, reaching for a towel to dry the plate. "Did he offer to make you disappear instead?"

Brennan picked up on the fear beneath the casual comment. It wasn't like he didn't know she could do it. After all, her father had helped her once before.

"Even if he had," Brennan said, not trying to hide the annoyance in her tone, "I promised you I wouldn't do that again. The only thing he offered was help, if and when I needed it. With Christine, of course. And with our new child, if it took that long."

Booth turned and leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "Nothing more?" At Brennan's raised eyebrow, he elaborated. "I just find it hard to believe he didn't offer something."

"If he did, it wasn't to me." She tilted her head and looked a little closer at her husband. "Are you sure he didn't visit you to make the threat instead?"

Looking down toward his feet, Booth swallowed. "I know you need me to be honest, Bones, and I want to be nothing less than that." He picked his head back up. "But perhaps, you could just let this one go?" he asked hopefully.

When she didn't respond, Booth took a deep breath. "Would you let it go if I promise you that at no point did he threaten to hurt me? Nor did he threaten to hire someone to hurt me."

Brennan shook her head. "I should have known something was up."

"He loves you, Bones. But as far as you know, that conversation never happened." Booth would never tell her, but there was a side of that man, buried very deep, that was terrifying when he was protecting the people that mattered to him.

Booth hadn't realized he was one of those people until Max showed up at the apartment. The conversation had been unexpected and uncomfortable. Booth hoped he never had to have another like it.

"Someday," Brennan said, "I hope you will share what he said to you." Stifling a groan, she pushed herself to her feet. "But right now, I think it's time to go back to bed. My feet are cold."

Immediately pushing himself from the counter, Booth followed her to the bedroom. Grabbing a pair of socks, he pulled them on her feet before tucking her under the covers again.

She sighed, snuggling tightly against him. At least, as tightly as she could considering her pregnancy.

"I missed this, Booth," she whispered, her words starting to slur as she fell asleep.

"Me, too," he answered. "I love you, Bones."

"Love you, Booth. Promise me something?" she asked.

"Anything."

"You'll be next to me when I wake up."

"Until the day I die, Bones," he promised, knowing it was one he'd have no trouble keeping.


	14. Chapter 14

The warm air felt good on their skin as they entered Founding Fathers. Fall had arrived, and the chill was apparent in the air. It wouldn't be long before snow fell from leaden skies.

But today, the sun was shining outside the windows. It had been the perfect afternoon to make several stops before heading home for the evening. Quiet time to take care of some things before they spent time with their children. Something they both, always, looked forward to.

"It was nice of you to do that for him," Brennan said softly, reaching out to brush her fingers over the back of her husband's hand. They took their usual seats as the bartender placed two bottles in front of them. He smiled in welcome, opening a tab for them. This pair were among his favorite repeat customers and he appreciated the opportunity to serve them again.

Booth shrugged, reaching for the bottle. In his mind, he hadn't done enough for the man who now rested peacefully, he hoped, beneath the ground. "He died a hero. I wish I had done more. Hadn't lost touch with him."

It hadn't been much, in Booth's eyes. A simple service, a headstone to mark a grave. A visit now and again to make sure everything was as it should be.

"You can't blame yourself, Booth. You know this," she reminded him gently. His need for control, at times, was a dangerous road for him to go down. Brennan didn't want to lose him to it again.

"I know, Bones," he reassured her quickly, knowing where her mind had gone. His loss of control after being in jail, after the death of Sweets, had led to problems he'd been afraid he'd never overcome. Probably wouldn't have, without the woman sitting next to him. "I know it's not my fault. I just wish things had gone differently, that's all."

"People come in and out of our lives, Booth. You and Aldo lost touch before. You had no reason to know, or believe, this time was any different."

He reached down and grabbed the hand that rested next to his. "I wish he would have come to me," he said, frustration in the words. "I would have helped him."

Brennan nodded and reached for her own drink with the hand he didn't hold. "Men are apparently rather stubborn when it comes to asking for help. Kind of like someone else I know." She took a moment to drink before continuing. "I have no doubt that he knew how you felt about him. He was a great help to you, and to us."

"He saved me more times than I can count, both when I was a sniper and after. His words brought me comfort when I needed it most," Booth agreed. "It was unfortunate part of that turned him from the church."

Pressing her lips together, Brennan kept her thoughts on religion to herself. Booth knew how she felt, just as she knew his belief in a higher power was as strong as her disbelief. Instead, she shifted to see Booth more easily. "I'm not sure this is the best time, or place, to tell you this. But you weren't the only one who found comfort in his words. He helped me, once, when I desperately needed it."

Genuinely curious, Booth released her hand. "If Aldo helped you, the story can't be all bad."

She nodded, already second guessing her decision. "This can wait until later, Booth," she said. "When we are home. Because I think it will upset you."

"Oh, I don't know, Bones. We've said plenty of things to each other in this establishment. Surely, one more won't make a difference. Talk, Bones," he said, softening the order with a gentle smile. "We've gone through a lot over the years. And while I'm guessing this story is tinged with something, regret or sadness, I'm sitting next to you. It didn't change how we ended up. I'd like to know how Aldo helped you."

Staring away from him, Brennan took a deep breath. "It was a few months after you broke our engagement." She winced slightly when Booth took her hand again, but didn't pull away. Instead, she squeezed back until his grip softened. "I was feeling…unsure," she said, unable to find another word to explain her feelings about that period. "Unsure about your feelings for me and if I'd made a mistake when I thought you wanted to marry me. If I'd made a mistake in understanding your feelings for me."

"Bones," he said softly, reaching up to turn her face toward his.

"You made the right choice," she said firmly, before he could apologize or explain. "But I had Angela talking to me and you barely talking to me and everything in my head was a mess."

"Mine too," he agreed. "I wanted to tell you. Tried to come up with a plan to let you know what was happening. But nothing ever seemed safe enough. There are electronics everywhere. And Pelant knew how to access every single one."

She nodded. "Nothing probably would have been. It was a long summer followed by that case. You stood in that hotel room and told me you'd die for me." Biting her lip, she shook her head slowly. "I was familiar with that feeling, of you being gone, and desperately hoped it wouldn't come to that."

"Jesus, Bones," he muttered, running his hand down her arm.

"And then," she continued, taking a deep breath. "And then I found these business cards in your pocket."

"Aldo's bar," Booth filled in. "He wanted me to pass them out at work and drum up some business."

"I thought they were for a strip club, or something similar," she blurted quickly. "I thought you'd found someone else, somewhere else."

He was stunned speechless. "I would never, I could never," he protested when his mouth caught up with his brain. "You're it for me, Bones. You have to know that."

Reaching up, she patted his cheek reassuringly. "I know that, Booth. I knew it then. At least, I thought I did. But I had to know for sure. Needed to see the evidence for myself. So I went there. To the bar."

"No. Wait." He took a drink from the bottle in front of him, before signaling the bartender and ordering whiskey instead. "You need to understand this," he said as the drink was placed in front of him. "Rebecca had part of my heart, still does," he clarified, "because she is the mother of my child. Tessa only had a small piece of me." He paused to take a large drink from the glass, before turning back to her. "Hannah. Well, Hannah had a pretty big chunk of my heart. But not all of it," he admitted, his voice dropping to barely more than a whisper.

She put her hand on his arm, but didn't try to stop him, knowing it would be useless to do so.

"My friends, my family, they each hold a part. But you," he said, finishing off the drink. "You are the only woman who has ever held all of my heart that I have left to give. All of it. I've kept nothing of it for myself. I gave very single bit of it to you."

She sighed. "I know that, Booth. But at the time, I didn't understand why you were breaking my heart. And I didn't understand why you wouldn't just talk to me about how you were feeling. And those stupid cards made every fear, every doubt I had very real. I went back to what I knew, which was science. I explained what was happening using studies and big words. I never thought to look deeper. To think, that perhaps, you changing your mind had nothing to do with your desire to marry me."

Booth signaled to have his glass refilled. He raised a questioning eyebrow at Bones, but she shook her head. "So you went to the bar," Booth said. "I didn't know that. What did you say to him?"

Recalling the memory, her eyes took on a distant look as she drifted back. "It was almost empty in his establishment. He told me it was ladies night. So I ordered the ladies special. I don't even know what the drink was," she admitted with a smile.

"Did he know who you were?" Booth asked.

"Not at first. But he saw my identification in my wallet when I paid. 'Temperance Brennan. You're Booth's girl' he said to me."

Snorting out a laugh, Booth smiled. "I'm sure you reacted well to that."

Not responding, she looked down at the hand that still held hers. "You don't own me. But I'm yours just the same." Shaking her head, Brennan lifted her eyes. "He told me that you loved me. That you wanted to marry me. That not being married to me was a sin. Something you were struggling with."

Freeing her hand, Booth fought the urge to stand and pace. "He took a huge chance telling you that. Pelant was more than capable of listening in. Aldo could have blown the whole thing." If the man had still been living, Booth might have taken the opportunity to tell him just that.

She shrugged. "Apparently, he thought it was worth the risk. And you had found a way to talk to him."

"Walk in freezer," Booth said. "I wanted to tell you, but…" he trailed off.

"I'm not a great actor," she agreed without him saying the words. "It's best that you didn't."

Booth blew out a breath. "What did you say?"

"That I wanted to marry you too. I think my confusion with the situation was easy for him to see."

"But he said something to you, didn't he?" Booth asked. "Something that suddenly made you trust me again. Or at least give me the benefit of the doubt."

"He didn't tell me it was Pelant's fault. Even Aldo didn't dare go that far. He told me he'd seen you do a lot of things that were difficult. But not," she continued, drawing a breath, "without a very good reason."

"That was it?" Booth asked, not sure he believed it was that simple. "That's pretty cryptic."

Brennan finished off her drink and waited until a second was placed in front of her. She smiled gratefully before continuing. "Perhaps, but it made me look at the situation from a different perspective. That perhaps you hadn't made the choice freely, but were forced."

"I thought you were leaving me," Booth said, the thought heavy in his chest. "I finally had you and you were going to walk away from me. Again. Pelant was going to cost me everything."

Swiveling the chair toward her, he waited for her to turn and tuck her knees between his. "When you first told me no, that night at the Hoover, I was angry with myself for bungling it so badly, and angry with you for not saying yes. But I knew I could get through it. And I did. We did. Even if things weren't the same as before."

She nodded, not sure where he was going.

"And when we went almost a year without talking, I thought I was okay with that too. Or I pretended I was. Even if I wasn't. I knew you needed time, and space, so I gave it to you."

HIs hands rested palm up on his thighs and she joined hers with his. "I took too much time and space," she said. "It was a foolish decision."

Booth shook his head. "It wasn't. Because when you came back, you looked…" he struggled to find the words to explain it. He hadn't been prepared for the punch to the gut that first look at her had given him. "You looked like you again. I'm sorry, I can't explain it so you understand."

"It's okay," she said with a quiet laugh. "Trust me, I understand that feeling better than the rest."

"And then there was Hannah, confessions in the rain, my anger, and the night of the blizzard where we made wishes in smoke. And even though it took longer than I wanted it to, I was finally where I wanted to be. With you."

Shaking his head, he freed one hand to empty his glass again. And accepted another from the bartender. "I think you better plan on driving home," he said.

Agreeing, she pushed her second bottle of beer toward him and requested a glass of water.

"That summer, after I broke off our very short engagement, when I thought Pelant had won, I didn't pull back because I didn't love you. I could never stop loving you. I pulled back to protect myself. Because I didn't know how I'd make it through if you walked away. Not after knowing how it felt to be with you. And I couldn't tell you the real reason for everything. So I told you nothing at all. I hate that man," he said bitterly. _And I'm glad he's dead._ When he emptied the glass this time, he turned it upside down.

"Aldo helped me to see what I had been blind to before. You kept reassuring me that you loved me. Saying the words and doing all the things that proved it. He helped me to see what I'd been missing. And you told me, that night, when I waited for you to come home, that as soon as you could, you'd tell me. It was the words there that finally made sense to me. It wasn't that you didn't want to tell me. It was that you couldn't."

"I owe him, Aldo, for finding a way to say to you the things that I couldn't. I owe him a debt I can never repay."

"You repaid it, Booth. You captured those who murdered him and gave him justice. You did the only thing you could for him, the only thing left. It's enough."

He nodded, knowing there were times the only comfort he could give others, that he could take for himself was justice. "You ready to go home?"

"Whenever you're ready, Booth." Waiting until he paid for their drinks, she rose and tucked her arm in his.

"I don't know why you never give up on me, Bones."

"Sometimes I need a little push in the right direction. Aldo gave me one. But you're mine, Booth. And I don't let go of what is mine. Everyone knows it. And those that don't, will."

He smiled at her fierce words and bumped her gently. "Same for me, Bones. Same for me."


End file.
